


Gravity Sings

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor [53]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 15:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 96,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14311905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: If you're lost trying to read this, it's because you jumped into the latter third of a long series.This picks up about where "Home in a Handbasket" left off. The adults have different challenges than the kids.





	1. The Home Team

we make our own gravity to give weight to things  
then things fall and they break and gravity sings  
we can only hold so much is what i figure  
try and keep our eye on the big picture  
picture keeps getting bigger

and too much is how i love you  
but too well is how i know you

and i've got nothing to prove this time  
just something to show you  
i guess i just wanted you to see  
that it was all worth it to me

 

Ani Difranco, Hour Follows Hour

\----------------

 

"Admiral."

The bed shifted a little, and he was up on an elbow to look around. She could see the back of his head in the patch of sunlight coming through the translucent curtains over the head of the bed, as he pretended he couldn’t find her in the rumpled bedclothes. She sank back into the sheets behind a mound of the bedding.

"What? Where are you? Who's there?"

Deanna rewarded him with a giggle and a nudge through the covers with her knee. "I love it when you buy furniture for us. This is such a comfortable bed." It was easily half again as big as their bed in their old quarters aboard their former ship. It was also nice to have him there, finally, after too many mornings she'd awakened alone. Their new home had finally started to feel that way, like a home.

"It's a little frustrating when you disappear into the pillows and blankets, however."

"It's cold, here. I prefer being warm. It's chilly in the morning if you don't let the heater run at night."

"You want to be warmer? Come here!"

More giggling, as he shoved bedding around pretending to look for her, and eventually just moved over to pull her against him. She hummed in pleasure as his hand smoothed the silk nightgown along her hip and thigh.

"Hello, Captain," he murmured, moving in for a kiss.

It was Saturday -- the usual pattern on Earth had been for centuries to observe a five-day work week and two days off. Sometimes that was not the case for Starfleet personnel -- there were instructors at the Academy on a Tuesday-Saturday schedule. But they had been able to synchronize their work schedules with the children's school schedule, and the whole family got two days to play. She had grading to do, and next semester's calendar to think about -- the Academy already wanted the schedule and her supervisor was encouraging her to pick up another class in addition to the two she already taught. 

But, at the moment, she decided to be exactly where she was, and not worry about it. Yves was at his friend's house, Amy was at her friend's house, and the twins were still asleep. Her husband had been home for a week, and it had been one busy day after another for them. They deserved at least a few hours, at least a morning to themselves. There had been times over the years that they'd found the opportunity to slow down, but something about knowing that there would be no red alert for them in the foreseeable future and also no pages from the bridge, no annunciator going off, led to feeling far less urgency and took away all anxiety. In a word, she felt grounded, in a way that had never been possible aboard the _Enterprise_.

Deanna let him kiss her thoroughly, sliding her hands down his ribs and bringing her right leg up, her thigh rubbing against his while his hand went exactly where she wanted it to. His left hand worked its way into her hair. She moaned, as he moved down to fondle her left nipple with his tongue; her hands went to his shoulders and she wriggled beneath him, humming happily and enjoying the way their bodies moved together.

There was a tapping on the door. Both of them flinched -- he pulled away, sitting up on the side of the bed, and reached for the robe flung across the back of a chair on that side of the room. With the sudden cessation of intercourse and the disruption of her focus on her bondmate, Deanna could tell that it was Cordelia.

“The children are old enough that we can tell them not to bother us in the mornings, aren’t they?” he said, standing and flinging on the robe.

“I’ll be out in a minute to get the coffee going,” she said, watching him go to the door and flipping a blanket over herself.

He went out, and Cordelia informed her father in high pitched histrionic tones that Pierre was eating so loudly she couldn’t sleep. That was an interesting accusation given they had their own rooms. He shut the door behind him, muffling his response.

By the time Deanna arrived in the kitchen, wearing a plush green robe over one of her husband’s shirts, the crisis was apparently over. Cordie was calm again and Pierre frustrated, each of them in their rooms at the far end of the house, and Jean-Luc arrived to join her at the counter as she put freshly ground coffee in the basket to start the process of making breakfast. He ran his hand down the back of his head and touched her back with the other hand, leaning in to kiss her temple.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she murmured, swaying against him. It had been almost too overwhelming, to make the transition to Earth with the children without him.

He ran his hand up her back and stood with her while the coffee quietly trickled into the carafe. It was so much easier to breathe, now that they were together again. His hand was a comforting weight on the back of her neck, his cheek warm and dry against hers, and she let the murmur of heart fire soothe her again.

The polite, soft tone she’d programmed the computer to use when there was an incoming transmission echoed in the kitchen.

“It’s beginning to feel as though we’re still aboard,” he grumbled. “Identify caller, computer.”

“Admiral Bettencourt,” the computer said.

“Put her through,” Jean-Luc said, resigned to it. He put his arms around Deanna in apology.

“Admiral Picard,” came the low-pitched, graveled voice of Soriah Bettencourt, his new supervisor. “My apologies for the interruption. I have received an urgent message from Ross, and you should be on the call when I contact him at thirteen hundred hours.”

“I will be there, then,” he said. Deanna smiled at the note of regret.

“I know that you are still settling in. I regret disrupting your time off.”

“I understand, Admiral, the situation is what it is,” he said. “I shall see you at thirteen hundred. Picard out.”

“Already in the middle of a crisis, before coffee,” she said, as they drew apart.

“It shouldn’t be a long call. There are -- “ He stopped himself. “Sorry.” Of course, he couldn’t talk about classified information at home.

“The only thing I will miss,” she said, getting two mugs from the cabinet over the coffee maker. “Working with you, on missions. Our only joint project will be the kids.”

“Now, now,” he murmured, sliding a hand up her thigh and baring her right buttock.

“Hmmm, yes, there is that too,” she said with a grin. “But remember there are two children in the house who can tell what you’re up to, and the generator goes off every morning at eight.”

“Computer, change the timer on -- “

“Papa,” Jean-Pierre yelled out from several rooms away. He was running, judging from the footfalls that became audible, and came to a halt in the kitchen door. At the sight of his father disrobing his mother, he yelped and retreated. “Red alert! Red alert!”

“Warned you,” she said, turning to head for the bedroom. “Bring me coffee in the shower.”

At least he was obedient. She emerged from a hot shower with wet hair to a naked man holding a steaming cup of black coffee, lightly sweetened. “Pierre wants me to take him to a ball game,” Jean-Luc said as he handed her the mug.

“We’ll have time tonight. Empty house, after we get back from dinner.”

He smiled at the thought, and he watched her head out into the bedroom to get clothes, sipping her coffee as she went. She put on some comfortable pants, a blouse in a lighter shade of blue than the pants, and twisted her hair back into a knot. Jean-Luc came out while she was pinning it.

“Are you going to grow out your hair again?”

“So obsessed,” she chided, watching him start to put on his uniform. He’d asked her that occasionally since she’d had to have most of it cut off following the Devarin incident. “You have five and a half hours before your meeting, do you not?”

“I do. Might as well put on the pants and the shirt now. I’ll leave the jacket for later. What’s wrong with growing out your hair?”

“Nothing, I suppose. Since I’m assuming we’ll have the same arrangement.” She sat on the corner of the unmade bed and watched him pull the gray undershirt over his head. “Oh, you are a fine specimen, Jean-Luc Picard.”

“Won’t stay that way for long, if I don’t start with the gym soon.” He sidled over and sat next to her. In the distance, Cordie and Pierre started shouting. Again. “Have they been like this since you moved in?”

“They are after all children, Jean-Luc. I suspect that at that age you were very similar,” she said. “Since Betazoid children never raise their voices that way at all, and never cause their parents the slightest trouble.”

“You should remind your mother of that sometime, hopefully while I’m at a safe distance,” he said with a smirk.

“Are we sure we want them to go spend the night with Data?”

“He can always call us to rescue him. I think they’ll be fine.”

The ball game didn’t happen. By the time they made it across the house, coffees in hand, to investigate, Pierre had broken a padd, which resulted in losing privileges and additional chores. Cordelia required some consoling as it had been her padd he’d thrown. Deanna sat down at the dining room table with their younger daughter and an old fashioned puzzle, which they'd found at the Picard family home in a trunk with some other keepsakes.

Jean-Luc joined them some time later, sitting across the table from Deanna. "This looks like a puzzle my mother had," he said, picking up the box.

"We found it at the house in France," Deanna said. "It probably was. Would you like something to eat? We all slept in late enough to call it brunch."

"Can I have a scone?" Cordelia cried, practically jumping off her chair. She'd fallen in love with lemon-poppyseed scones that Deanna had found at a bakery down the street.

By the time Pierre stopped sulking in his room and joined them, they had a corner of the puzzle done, each had a half-eaten scone, Deanna had more coffee, and Cordie had some tea. "Can I have some coffee?" Pierre leaned on his father's shoulder and studied the puzzle, his brow drawn into a frown and his dark eyes tired.

Jean-Luc glanced at the cup at his right elbow. "You can try mine."

Pierre leaned down and sniffed, and made a face. Wrinkled his nose. "Okay, I'm going to get juice."

"No desserts," Deanna reminded with a smile. Pierra grumbled a little on his way in, and she heard him tell the replicator he wanted preset four -- his preset was an omelet, full of Betazoid vegetables.

They whiled away the time with the puzzle, while Jean-Luc questioned the twins about school and the details of their new social lives. Deanna enjoyed the conversation -- Pierre eventually started to smile again, as he chatted back and forth with his father.

They both leaped up from the table at the sound of the doorbell. "Uncle Data," Cordelia shrieked, charging forth to answer. Deanna smiled at Jean-Luc and rose along with him, to go greet their friend.

"Good morning," the android said, smiling as they came into the foyer. Cordelia and Pierre were backing away from hugging the android.

"Maman, can we take Fidele?" Cordelia asked.

"I don't see why not." Deanna didn't have to call -- the dog bounded out, having heard the question all the way from Yves' bedroom.

"Hello, Fidele," Data said. The android wore civilian clothing, these days. Black slacks, a black jacket, and a white shirt. He had indicated the other day at dinner that he had been experimenting with various forms of dress, now that he was not bound to wearing a uniform.

Hello, Father," the dog replied, sitting in front of Data and panting. Fidele wagged his long tail and shifted his paws eagerly.

"When will you be bringing them home tomorrow?" Jean-Luc said. "Did you both get your homework done?"

"Yes, Papa," they chorused. Truthfully, Deanna acknowledged with a slight nod.

"I would like to take them to one of the museums in the morning," Data said. "We should return by dinnertime, in your time zone."

"All right, then. Go get your bags," Jean-Luc said. It sent the kids rampaging toward their rooms.

"If you need to bring them back early, you can contact me," Deanna said. "Jean-Luc is going to a meeting this afternoon."

"Of course, Deanna. I assure you that I will contact you also in the event either of them is injured."

"I'll probably sense that before you call, but thank you," she replied.

The twins returned with their overnight bags and gave each of them a kiss good-bye, and Data led the way out, the twins and Fidele on his heels. The door slid closed behind them.

Deanna stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband in their quiet house for a few minutes.

"Computer, time," Jean-Luc said.

"The time is eleven hundred thirteen hours."

He chuckled. "You know, that gives us -- "

" -- a little less than two hours til your meeting," she finished for him.

"We could make the bed," he suggested, leaning in a little more.

"After we're done with it?" she said slyly.

"I like the way you think."

 


	2. Extended Family

Jean-Luc watched Soriah punch the appropriate spot on the panel to sever the subspace connection, and waited. Soriah was Vulcan, and married to a human musician, one Téo Bettencourt, a pianist of some notoriety in musical circles. Soriah was one of the few he'd seen with blond hair, and she was young, less than a century old, so her face was smooth and youthful. She was also a veteran of the Vulcan fleet, who had commanded a Starfleet vessel for fifteen years before her promotion and working her way up to taking charge of the Tactical Operations Division.

She folded her hands on the edge of the gleaming black table between them. "I am supposing that Admiral Ross may be correct. Do you concur?"

"It would be consistent with what we know of the Asili, certainly. They do tend to be unpredictable. If they were capable of being committed to a single unified goal, we might be in more serious trouble. I suspect that when we reinforce that part of our borders, they will shift their attention to weaker points -- the Sendat system, in particular, would be at risk." He turned to the display on the wall to his left, at the end of the table. The red flags marking the latest attack by the Asili on a Federation system still blinked, and there were green lines delineating the boundary of Federation space.

"I am concerned that the _Kivan_ was so quickly overwhelmed," Soriah said. She looked at the panel in front of her, brought up a holographic projection of the vessel again, with red areas demonstrating the damage digitally painted on the hull. It was an Akira class, the same as Shelby's former command.

"Captain Pembroke -- do you know him? I don't believe I've met him." Jean-Luc grimaced at the pattern of hull breaches, demonstrating the Asili tactic of sending in smaller vessels to penetrate shields and bore into the ship. Some captains still underestimated the Asili. Pembroke had stuck to Starfleet standard protocols and hailed them, appealing to them in the name of peace.

"I have not met the captain," Soriah said calmly. "Would that be relevant had I done so?"

"Sometimes meeting someone can be illuminating. When the survivors get here, I would like to speak to them, to be thorough -- also I suspect that some will be in need of treatment for trauma, and the captain will be referred to Captain Troi."

"Your wife," Soriah added. "She teaches, does she not? Admiral Adira informed me that he believes she too would be an asset to Tactical Operations. What do you think?"

"She would -- as our children become more independent, the likelihood of her accepting such a position increases. At the moment she prefers the more flexible schedule that teaching affords her."

Soriah gazed at him with half-lidded eyes nearly as dark as a Betazoid's. It would be easy to assume that was a benign look, but he knew he was still on probation. "You worked together aboard the _Enterprise_ for many years. It is not always the case that spouses can do so, in such a stressful environment. The admirals I have heard speak on that topic generally discount that it might be possible."

"I have heard as much myself," Jean-Luc said with a benign smile. He was quite pleased that Vulcans were nothing like Betazoids, and he was at no risk of having his frustration at the years of flag officers poking into his business revealed to her. "We have always focused on duty, rather than conjecture and gossip."

"I would like to meet her. Perhaps you will bring her one day." Soriah looked again at the star chart projected on the wall. "We will have a meeting on Monday, to discuss this with Admiral N'dannis and Admiral Mola, and come to a conclusion. The _Valiant_ should arrive by Monday afternoon with the survivors, and we will deploy more vessels along the border in that sector to monitor the situation there. You are dismissed, Admiral Picard."

He nodded and stood up from the table, stepped sidelong away from the chair, and turned to go. A brief glance back and he saw that Soriah was still contemplating the star chart.

In the outer office, Lieutenant-Commander Simms, a young man with an enthusiastic grin, came to attention. "See you on Monday, Commander," Jean-Luc said, strolling past the officer's desk.

"Aye, sir. Have a good weekend."

The corridors were empty, all the way to the first floor foyer, and out the front door. There were always security officers in the foyer; they came to attention as he passed them, but said nothing. Outside he crossed the pavement in front of the building at a brisk pace and headed down the open-air mall between the various departmental buildings that made up Starfleet Command. He was surprised as he turned a corner by a familiar voice, calling his name.

Will Riker, in uniform and jogging to catch up with him, came from the direction of Starfleet Medical. "Hey," he greeted, slightly out of breath. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Will. What brings you out in uniform?"

"I had a chat with Adira, and then I stopped in to see a doc about a stuffy head and sore throat," he said, with his usual easy grin. "The kids both have it now, and Bell's starting to feel the same. Doc said it's fairly typical for a virus to pop up when you first come down to Earth, after being out for an extended period."

Deanna had said the twins and Amy had caught a minor bug in the first few days, nothing that kept them out of school but evident -- Jean-Luc suspected the scratchy throat he'd had first thing in the morning might be something, but it hadn't been significant enough to bother him enough to do anything about it. Marcus had been ill enough that Bell had stayed with him instead of coming to the house the other night, for their gathering.

"You have a thought or two about moving dirtside?" Jean-Luc asked, starting to walk again. Bell and the kids were supposed to stay here in San Francisco, but so far as he knew Will hadn't decided yet.

"Adira said there's a good chance of a dreadnought in my future, there's one about to launch and I'm being considered." Will fell in step with him. "But I think the kids would be better off on Earth, and better for the marriage if I do stay and help her with them."

Jean-Luc suppressed a smile. "Do you want to stay grounded?"

"Not sure," Will said. He wasn't smiling any more. There was, Jean-Luc noticed, more gray in his beard and some in his cropped hair. "Are you finding it suits you?"

"I am, in fact. After my unscheduled meeting, I am going home to an evening with my wife, instead of spending the following weeks sorting out the details of what happened on Federation borders."

Will nodded thoughtfully. After half a block, he responded at last. "I'm glad it's working out. Deanna's doing well at the Academy?"

"They are offering her more classes. Though she still has an agreement with Medical to take on clients, so that may not come to fruition. And Admiral Bettencourt just asked me if I thought she would be interested in Tactical Ops."

"That's great," Will exclaimed. But there was a lack of enthusiasm in it.

Jean-Luc paused, for another half a block. They reached the end of the side street and he turned left at the corner -- two more blocks and they would be home. The Picard house was in a neighborhood full of rentals frequented by Starfleet officers stationed at Command.

"How is it going, with the counseling?" he asked quietly, at long last. He knew that Will had been going to counseling, since their conversation about that several years ago -- he'd mentioned it in passing from time to time. He'd known that the kids were also a part of that. John's behavior was worrying both Bell and Will. But all the contacts between them over the past four years had been via subspace, due to the lengthy mission in deep space that the _Titan_ had been on until its destruction.

"It's been a long journey. Difficult." Will didn't look at him as they went along, past the small yards full of trees and shrubbery on the block. "I think I'm better than I was. Bell does, too. But I'm worried about the kids."

"Of course you are. I think you should talk to Deanna about them."

"I don't want to impose," he said. "We have a good therapist working with them now. Just started them with him two weeks ago, when we got here."

They turned another corner, and the house was the third on the left. Will hesitated, but Jean-Luc gestured for him to come along. As they approached the front yard, a fenceless patch of grass, the door of the house next door opened. deLio came down the walk -- a naked L'norim was startling, as all those Jean-Luc encountered wore clothing, but around the house they had rented next door, his friends were of course making themselves at home. The emaciated-looking gray humanoid stood at the low white fence marking the boundary of his yard, staring at them.

"Good afternoon, deLio," Jean-Luc exclaimed. Will echoed the greeting.

The L'norim crossed his arms -- a gesture he'd picked up from the humans he'd associated with for years on the _Enterprise_ \-- and cocked his head. Jean-Luc realized that deLio likely expected to be on duty whenever he was.

"I was called in for a subspace conversation, that's all. It wasn't.... This is Earth, deLio. It was perfectly safe."

"You remember I think that Earth was on alert a number of times in recent years," deLio said. "Admiral Bettencourt agreed that security for you was a good idea."

Jean-Luc glanced at Will -- his former first officer shrugged. "He has a point. I'd guess you're unpopular with a number of species these days."

"I am not spending my time off with a security escort."

"You appear to be wearing a uniform, Admiral," deLio said.

Jean-Luc sighed and turned to head into his house. "Fair enough. So may I be forgiven if I promise to contact you the next time I wander about in uniform?"

deLio nodded curtly and went back in his house.

"Do they think you'll be accosted on Earth?" Will asked, following him up the walk.

"More that I'll be pestered -- there don't appear to be any reporters around, but that wasn't the case just a day ago. And apparently there have been a few reports of...." As they stepped through the front door, Jean-Luc let his sentence trail off. "Huh."

"That smells pretty good," Will exclaimed.

Jean-Luc was reminded of days when he'd come home from school to find the house filled with the smell of fresh baked bread, and his mother setting out the tea things. "I wonder," he murmured. He led the way through the dining room into the small kitchen. There was a grocery bag on the counter, some bread on a plate, and the fruit bowl seemed to be fuller.

Then Deanna came down the hall from their bedroom. "How did the meeting go? Hello, Will," she said with a smile at their friend. But she came to Jean-Luc to lean in for a kiss. "You aren't worried, so it must have gone well enough."

"You went shopping again -- you'll spoil me," he said, putting an arm around her. "That bread smells as though it just came out of the oven."

"Because it did, down at the bakery. Give me a minute and I'll bring us some. Why don't you go out to the garden, it's a very nice afternoon."

Will followed him back to the dining room and through the double doors into the courtyard in the middle of the house. The small round table and matching white chairs were in the one patch of sunshine. They sat across from each other, and Will glanced around at the plants.

"Most of it came with the house," Jean-Luc said. "The girls wanted color so they brought in some of the purple flowers, petunias I think. Tom gave Dee a rose but it needed to go in the front, where there's more sun."

Deanna came out, carrying a tray of fresh bread slices, cheese and fruit. She still wore the white dress she'd put on after Jean-Luc had torn off what she'd worn earlier. "What do we want to drink? There's a bottle of wine that would go with this."

"Water's fine for me," Will said.

"I'll be right back," she said. Jean-Luc watched her walk back inside.

"She's so happy," Will murmured, also watching her go.

"Yes," Jean-Luc replied.

Will turned back to him, and gave him a nod. "I'm glad the two of you are doing so well. I know it was very stressful for a long time."

Deanna returned with a pitcher of water and three glasses. "I'm surprised to see you, Will. I would think you would be with Bell and the boys."

"She's home, with them. I had some business at Command too."

Deanna poured each of them water, sat in the chair to Jean-Luc's right, and grabbed a piece of apple from the tray as she picked up a glass. "Are you thinking of promoting as well?"

"I am, actually. I wanted to ask... I'm not sure what to ask, actually. What do you think about John?"

Deanna chewed slowly, considering the question. "I know you are worried about him."

"Dr. Mazar believes he's angry. It's hard to tell. Sometimes I think it's that, but sometimes I wonder if he's just...." Will shook his head and looked miserable.

Jean-Luc thought about some of the things John had said, the night everyone had come over for dinner. The way the boy had of pretending to be friendly, saying things in a way that if challenged he would be able to play the innocent -- Yves had excused himself after a while, and the other children had left as well. Too much of his teasing had an edge to it. He looked to Deanna, who was eating a slice of cheese and thinking again. The thought passed between them easily, and she turned back to Will as she sipped her water.

"Do you think John has anything to be angry about?" she asked softly.

Will took a tiny bite of bread and cheese, and heaved a great sigh as he shook his head. "We've tried to give him what he needs -- I'm not sure how it could have been any different. When the _Titan_ was destroyed we thought he might have been traumatized by the evacuation -- Bell and the kids were in a shuttle for a while without me, didn't know where I was or if I was alive. But when we were all picked up and brought in by the _Dauntless,_ he was just as happy as the rest of us. He's been questioned by the counselors about it, checked out fine. But he turns into this disrespectful, snide version of himself. I tried to question him, he acts like I'm making baseless accusations."

"Have you disciplined him for the behavior?" Deanna asked.

"I've tried." Will put aside the glass, still half full. He sighed heavily and folded his hands in his lap, clearly not interested in the food. "He acts like we're torturing him."

Deanna was troubled by that. She picked up another slice of apple and nibbled. "When you and Bell separated, he was two. When she came aboard the _Titan_ to rejoin you he was four and a half. What was he like then?"

"Are you sure you want to start asking all the questions? I don't expect you to be our counselor, Deanna," Will said, his rueful grin telling them how far he'd come. He wasn't being surly or resentful, or upset.

"The children won't be back until tomorrow afternoon," Deanna said. "Why don't you bring John in the morning -- just the two of you. I'll talk to him. Not as a counselor, but as his godmother."

Will thought about it. Evidently he was that desperate. "All right. I don't want him to get the idea we're ganging up on him, though."

"I can be elsewhere -- I wanted to go see about the winery at some point," Jean-Luc said.

"Are you sure? Because obviously you set up this weekend so you can spend time together."

Deanna turned to smile at Jean-Luc. He felt badly for Will, and for John. He nodded, and when his hand came up hers met it, their fingers lacing together. "We have plenty of time," she said, turning back to Will. "I want to help, if I can."

"Thank you," Will said quietly. He seemed almost tearful -- he rose to his feet, suddenly restless, and his hands fidgeted. "I'm going to go -- Bell is probably wondering where I am. I might stop for some of that bread on the way home, I bet she'll like it."

"See you tomorrow," Deanna said, rising.

Will raised a hand. "I'll see myself out. Enjoy your evening." Leaning, he kissed Deanna on the cheek, and went in the house. They heard the front door open and close, distantly. The sun on the window panes kept them from seeing him go.

Deanna sat down again and reached for another piece of cheese and bread.

"It's difficult to see him struggle this way," Jean-Luc commented.

"It was difficult to hold my tongue, when John was here the other night," Deanna said, tearing off a bit of bread to put in her mouth. "Every time he asked Yves how something made him feel, I had to grit my teeth. I don't know why he is so jealous and angry at Yves."

"It's kind of you to offer to help. I'm not sure what good it will do. I think I want to be here, however."

She smiled at him, radiantly, and extended her leg to nudge his calf with her bare toes. "You lovely man. No matter how good I am with a phaser, you still want to protect me."

"I happen to know there are no phasers in the house. And I suspect that he may respond differently to me than he will to you. I have a diagnosis of my own."

"All I know is that he hardly seems to resemble the young man we met on Telix," she said, finishing the water in her glass.

That sent him back into memories of being on the colony, being pursued by creatures from the future and meeting their adult son along with several others -- Lora had been there, also John, handsome and tall and obviously good friends with Yves.

Jean-Luc sighed heavily, again.

The soft tone of an incoming call echoed through the house, coming to them through the open double doors from the dining room.

"I hope it's a personal call," Deanna said, picking up the tray.

He followed her inside. "Computer, accept the call," he said, watching her put things away in the stasis unit.

"Admiral, I hope that I am not interrupting," came the voice of Annika Hansen. They had instructed her to contact them when she was on her way to Earth. Instead of coming with Deanna or staying aboard with Jean-Luc when they'd informed her of their intent to move to Earth, she'd gone for an extended visit with Kathryn, on the _Isaac_ _Newton_.

"Not at all. Are you on your way to San Francisco?"

A short pause. "I am. The _Macon_ has provided me transport as far as Rigel, from which I intend to take a public transport if no Starfleet vessel is able to bring me the rest of the way. I should arrive in four days if all goes well."

"How was your visit with Kathryn and Chakotay?" Deanna asked, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms.

A longer pause, at that. "It was fine."

They exchanged a look -- that tension in Annika's voice was unusual, these days. She sounded more like her former self, Seven of Nine, as she had been prior to all the time she'd spent working through assimilation trauma. Deanna smiled sadly. "I have a few options for you when you get here -- we can look at apartments together, if you like. There's a very nice one not very far from the house."

"I appreciate all your help very much, thank you. I am looking forward to finally seeing Earth."

"I may even have a few ideas for work, if you don't want to go straight into the Academy," Jean-Luc said. "But there will be plenty of time for that. You should spend some time exploring, if you'd like to have a broader perspective of what you can do on Earth. We can talk about it over dinner. I'm sure the children will want to show you around the real Picard estate, as well."

"Thank you. I am sure I'll enjoy that," Annika replied, sounding more herself. "I will contact you when I arrive. Hansen, out."

Deanna nodded. "I'm tempted to call Kathryn and find out what happened. But I would like to have my husband to myself for a while."

"Computer, initiate privacy mode," Jean-Luc said. "No more calls, m'lady. Shall I remove the uniform?"

"We should try the new spa."

"Now that there's no one to break in while we're sitting in it, that sounds perfect."

 


	3. Prodigal Sons

Deanna spent an hour meditating after breakfast, sitting in the swing in the garden. Jean-Luc stayed inside -- he'd designated one of the rooms a library, and was putting his books, what was left of the collection after the destruction of the 1701-D plus some that he had brought from their home in France, in shelves in a particular order. He also wanted to find some comfortable chairs to sit in while reading, and finally look at replacing the carpeting in the front of the house. There was plenty to do since the move.

She sensed Will at the front door and left the swing to go answer the doorbell before it rang. When the door slid back, she smiled at Will and his son. John appeared to be in a fairly good mood. The teenager grinned and returned her greeting. He had freckles across his nose and cheeks, his mother's blonde hair and his father's facial structure -- also Will's smile. He was already charming girls, as Will had mentioned jovially the other day.

"Would you care for anything to drink?" Deanna asked, preceding them through the dining room and into the courtyard.

"No, thanks," John said. "Hey, where is everyone?"

"I believe Yves and some of his friends from school are playing some sort of game today. Amy is with her friend Neema at the beach. The twins went with Data to a museum, and took Fidele with them. And Jean-Luc is organizing books in his library." She sat in one of the chairs at the patio table, and Will and John joined her.

"Dad said you wanted to talk to me," John said.

"I do. We didn't have an opportunity, when you were here the other night. Everyone's been busy with settling in and school, and jobs -- I had lunch with your mother the week after we moved into the house, and not much contact since. It's time to start changing that. I'd like to start with you."

John shrugged. "Okay."

She knew that he was aware of his parents' decision that she would be his guardian, in the event anything happened to them. She knew there had not been enough contact over the years for him to feel any connection to her. She sensed nothing about him that suggested he disliked her, but also, nothing that indicated that he liked her at all. The best label she could put to his attitude toward her was insouciance -- he was largely indifferent to her.

"So," she continued, smiling and leaning an elbow on the table, "I spoke to Jean-Luc and we thought we might invite you over for the weekend next week. He's found a stable and plans to take all of us horseback riding, and I thought you might enjoy coming along."

John shrugged again, glanced at his father, and smirked. "Are you coming, Dad?"

"I can. I've never tried horseback riding, might be fun," Will said amiably. He was feigning nonchalance, wasn't sure what she was doing but trusted her.

"We can re-organize the sleeping arrangements -- you can use Pierre's room," she said.

"Why?"

Deanna gave him a puzzled look. "Why would you spend the night? You wouldn't want to stay up with us and play games? Get up and have breakfast, go out and do something else with us the next day?"

"What kind of games?"

"We spent a lot of time on the holodeck," Will put in. "He likes to play velocity and similar -- we've also taught him a few card games, but the past couple of years have been so busy we've not had many opportunities."

"We have a virtual reality console, and we've played a lot of card and board games. Cordelia is very interested in puzzles. Have you ever tried chess?"

"Naw, it looked pretty boring."

She agreed with him, in a way -- she didn't tend to like chess, found the one dimensional version tedious, and the three dimensional chess that Jean-Luc had played with her before was less enjoyable so far as the game went than others they'd played. "It can be. Sometimes games are about the person rather than the game itself, however. We've moved beyond kadis-kot to other sorts of board games."

John shrugged again -- it was a habit, she thought, and now that she'd annoyed him a little, she suspected it had to do with reacting to things others said in the least offensive way, or at least in a way that would get him minimal negative attention. She'd met people who would attempt to find the pat answer, the one that seemed to be expected, as a way of avoiding unwanted attention from others.

"What do you like to do, when you want to have fun?"

Now the younger Riker grinned -- he glanced at his father again, and from the little charge of enjoyment he felt from whatever he was thinking, he was anticipating something. From the behavior she'd observed a few days ago, she suspected he was about to goad his father -- deliberately attempt to irritate him. And now she did as she hadn't before; focused on the boy's emotions and paid very close attention.

"I like to shoot things," John said lazily. "And I really like reading."

Will shifted in his chair, and it was easy to see his frustration in his face. The boy was lying to her, blatantly, and Will knew his son was lying, probably because he knew what John enjoyed doing.

"I don't think that's true," Deanna said, maintaining a pleasant smile and keeping her gaze on the boy's face. "I know you enjoy making your father upset. I question why that is true, and why you don't like my son."

John scowled. He sat in his chair in shock -- there was a moment of calculation, along with his dismay, and then anger. "Why should I? I don't really know him very well. He's not my type of friend, either. I think I'd rather go to Troy's house next weekend."

"That's not going to happen," Will said quietly. "And you know why, so no need to start arguing."

That genuinely angered John, but he remained quiet just the same. There had been a long history of this, Deanna suspected -- it was something she hadn't dealt with in a long time, the dysfunctional patterns that could develop within families. As the lead counselor aboard the 1701-D, she'd dealt with children whose parents were too consistently unavailable then tried to compensate and either went overboard or tried to correct the pattern too little, too late. Will and Bell loved their kids, and she had no doubt that they'd done the best they could given the nature of their professions. John probably couldn't even tell her why he was so angry at Will, or why he was so frustrated most of the time. He simply reacted to his father in the same way, with the same emotions, over and over -- people often had emotional habits and this felt like one.

"I suppose Troy might be your friend?" she asked, in a curious, hopefully-nonthreatening tone. "Someone at school?"

"Dad doesn't like him. I don't know why -- he's going to be a starship captain someday," John said, still angry but not showing much of it.

Will was now suppressing some significant ire. But in a benign tone of voice, he said, "Troy is a bully. He enjoys getting in trouble at school."

"Yeah, well, some people get in trouble for sticking up for themselves," John said.

Will almost responded to it. But he stopped himself -- looked at Deanna with serious eyes, appealing to her for help.

Deanna affected a bemused look, and asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean Troy gets upset when other kids call him names and nothing changes, and then he gets in trouble when he has to address it himself," John said.

"You don't like bullies, then," Deanna said, accepting the assertion at face value for now. "You should get along with Yves quite well, then."

The immediate internal response was stronger this time. John's lip curled, for just a second. He shrugged. "I guess."

Deanna reached out internally, and Jean-Luc responded at once. "I think you and Yves could be good friends, if you spend some time together," she said, and then a door slamming preceded the opening of the side door into the courtyard -- from their side of the house, Jean-Luc arrived, the sleeves of his long-sleeved brown shirt rolled up, his dark slacks a little dusty-looking. She sat up, acknowledging him with a fond smile. "John's here. I'm encouraging him to come spend next weekend with us."

"Sounds like a good plan," Jean-Luc said, coming over and holding out a hand. John stood up and shook the extended hand. Like Yves, he was accustomed to being among adults. Jean-Luc put his hands on his hips and smiled down at the boy. "What do you think about a little ride in the park?"

"Keeping in mind, of course, that little rides with our family tend to be an adventure," Deanna put in as if teasing him.

"Oh, tsk," Jean-Luc said with a wave of the hand. "Not at all."

"Are we supposed to wear cowboy boots?"

Deanna turned the benign smile back on the boy. "Does that mean you're interested in coming? You can wear whatever boots you want."

"Yeah, sure," John said with another shrug. "Is there a bathroom?"

Jean-Luc gestured and headed into the house via the dining room, and John followed. He took him to the other side of the house to use the kids' bathroom. Will watched until he couldn't see them any more and turned to her. "What do you think?"

"I think you need to keep him in therapy. Provide consistent and firm consequences for bad behavior, after you and Bell decide what the definition of bad behavior includes so both of you will be able to lay down the law without flinching. Don't let his anger keep you from loving him and showing that."

"He doesn't react well to my telling him that I love him."

"Don't let his behavior determine yours. How did you become who you are today?" She knew the answer, because he'd told her all about his childhood and the hard lessons he'd learned at the Academy and after.

"I want John and Marcus to not have to learn the hard way," Will exclaimed. She'd upset him by apparently suggesting that he leave his son to learn things the hard way.

"Your son is like everyone else. We all learn some things the hard way. We all benefit from what our parents taught us. I think he is jealous and angry, and does not tell the truth out of a desire to avoid unpleasant reactions. It will take time to undo his bad habits. The identification with someone who bullies and uses the excuse that he is defending himself suggests that he feels he has been treated unfairly. He thinks he deserves what Yves gets, without an understanding that Yves earns what he has."

"So you're inviting him over so he can see that?"

"Perhaps he might, but I'm inviting him over so we can get to know him better."

"Am I really invited?" he asked, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms.

"Of course."

"I didn't want to interfere in anything you had planned."

"You're not going to interfere. We're going riding. I'll tell him every single one of us other than Jean-Luc can tell when he's lying. We'll see what happens."

Will smiled sadly. "He's a bully. Troy, the friend he's talking about, was hitting other kids and blaming someone else, and threatening the victims if they didn't tell the teachers he didn't do it. I told him he couldn't do anything with him any more, and the kid was expelled."

John came back, strode out into the courtyard confidently, and dropped into the chair again. Jean-Luc wasn't far behind him. "Are we ready for lunch?"

"We might be. Are the two of you staying for lunch?" Deanna asked.

"I told Bell we'd be back - but thanks for offering." Will said. "Come on, John, let's go."

After they were gone, Jean-Luc pulled out the chair John had been using a little farther and sat down. "Conclusion?"

"He's going to be a difficult case for their therapist. He's a convincing liar. But not so difficult as Annika. Will and Bell are likely to listen to me, if I don't shock them or convey to them that they are at fault."

"Do you think they are at fault?"

Deanna sighed and shook her head. "You know it's never that simple. All parents do the best they can, Jean-Luc. And children don't always do exactly as you expect, or train them to do, either. John has been like our children, surrounded by other children and adults who influenced him."

"But I don't believe they have been very strict with him."

"I know you've struggled with being consistent, in enforcing restrictions and rules with your children. You don't want to alienate them the way your father did to you. You've succeeded, obviously, in avoiding that. But there are other ways to alienate a child. I don't believe John is beyond help."

Jean-Luc slumped and felt sad, on their friend's behalf. "Will told me once he was looking forward to John being old enough to do things with, and now he has a son who doesn't want to do anything with him. Do you think that can change?"

"Of course it can. Remember though that it is ultimately not our responsibility to do that, Jean."

"I know. It's not a mission. It's Will's life, his family, but... he does need help."

"I know you want to do that. So we'll do what we can." She stood and stretched a little. "What do we want for lunch, _cher_ fish?"


	4. Prodigal Daughters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have not read the rest of the series, and are persisting in this story, you may have an inclination to kneejerk a comment that Seven is out of character. Or that the rest of them are. You would be correct, and incorrect. They are out of character if this were to happen during the canon of the series, or just after, without the intervening stories in my series. They are not out of character in my alternate universe, if you read the stories in order.

Deanna finished her Monday afternoon class with an example -- at times, she used a case study derived from multiple cases, to illustrate something she was teaching. As the trauma of post-assimilation was fairly unique, and she had limited cases, she often got called out on talking about her husband. After her presentation two students approached the front of the room, came to the podium as she was telling the computer to shut down the viewscreen on the wall, and she smiled at them -- the fleeting, officious smile of the busy instructor who does not want to spend a lot of time dealing with students, but does not want to seem dismissive.

The two young ladies weren't dissuaded. The one in the lead, a very pretty and slender blonde with wide blue eyes, was obviously there for a reason; the brunette hung back and waited. "Ma'am, I have a question. Does Starfleet always kill Borg on sight?"

Deanna paused, letting the padd drop into her case, and stepped out from behind the podium. "There is no set policy on confronting the Borg. Many things are left to the commanding officer in the situation. Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking about how every time an admiral goes on the media and says something along the lines of how so many of us have lost family and friends to the Borg -- if your husband was recovered, why can't they be?"

Deanna paused, as she usually did when answering questions like this, to sort through all the possible ways to answer it. So many years, so many encounters, so much classified information. "Cadet, do you know how many drones there are in the Collective? Or, how many of the Collective were at one time Starfleet?"

The cadet hesitated. "No, ma'am."

"I am sure that if there were an opportunity to recover more Starfleet personnel, it would be done. It's difficult to say whether that will be possible, given the number of Borg in the universe, their dispersal throughout the quadrants and having no method of locating or tracking those who are Starfleet personnel. We do at times recover individuals. It's why I mention that process in class." Deanna closed her case one-handed and picked it up by the handle, sliding it off the podium. "I'll see you on Wednesday, ladies."

The cadet nodded, smiled and took the implicit dismissal for what it was -- saluted, as the other did, and the two of them headed for the exit at the back of the classroom. Deanna watched them go and sighed. The young men and women attempting to join Starfleet were reminding her daily of her experience in the Academy -- hopefully she wouldn't have to take that run down memory lane for long, but it had been a month and still, she continued to have reminders. The very careful and neat hairstyles, the fit and trim bodies, the enthusiasm, and the completely perfect make-up -- she remembered being concerned about such things, right up until that third pip had been added to her collar. At some point putting her hair up while running had been status quo. And now, it felt decadent, on the weekends, not having to care and leaving it down.

The door behind her, programmed to open only for instructors, opened as she approached, and she fled down the corridor network behind the classrooms to the instructor's offices in the psychology building. Her small office had a window overlooking the grounds below -- the lawns and flower beds were immaculate, thanks to Boothby and his small corps of student workers who helped him. She put her case on the end of the desk and noticed the blinking light that indicated someone was waiting for her in reception. She tapped it.

"Ensign?"

"Captain, a civilian is here to see you -- Annika Hansen," came the rapid reply from the anxious ensign assigned to reception.

"Send her in, thank you," she replied calmly. By the time she'd put the case on the floor and stepped around the desk, Annika was in the open door. She saw the young woman's face as she stepped up to embrace her -- Annika was still working on emotional regulation, and something was bothering her, which led to an expression of relief upon seeing Deanna.

The former Borg hugged her tightly and finally stepped back. "I missed you," she said quietly, with a whiff of shame.

"We should go -- I don't have another class today. Just let me send a quick message and we'll go." Deanna turned back to the desk and brought up messaging on the surface -- the computer re-oriented the interface automatically, and she typed in a short missive about a family issue coming up so she would miss the staff meeting and sent it to the commandant. Since she'd only done it once before to address something at Mercy Hills with the kids, she thought it would not be damaging -- Admiral Jennings had been most understanding of her expressed concerns about taking on too many classes until the children were settled in after being raised on a starship. He himself had five children of his own, and several grandchildren.

She led Annika from the building, and they walked along between the lawns between the multi-story gleaming buildings of the Academy. The younger woman wore a modest dress in a light pink that flattered her -- a far cry from the gray skin-tight pantsuit she'd habitually worn early on. With the ocular implant gone from her face, no one would ever suspect she'd ever been assimilated.

"Something happened while you were visiting Kathryn," Deanna said, after debating whether to confront or not. Now that Annika was there in the flesh, however, it was obvious to her she had a lot of anticipatory anxiety. Best to be supportive when Annika knew she could sense everything -- not acknowledging it would cause more anxiety.

"I met someone." Judging from the spike of fear, dread, remorse, and the way she couldn't look at Deanna, it had been a negative experience. "He was not honest with me. Part of me knew that career officers do not typically seek real relationships. I told myself that I too am not ready for that. But I did not anticipate feeling... it was difficult," she finished, a few tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. That seemed to anger her; she swiped at them with her fingers and scowled. "I do not fault him. But I do not like that I am so damaged."

It said volumes, that she was sounding like Seven of Nine, suddenly. Deanna stopped walking and embraced her again, patting her back, and Annika burst into tears. She sobbed, and it took a few minutes for it to abate. When they stood back from each other again, the shoulder of Deanna's black uniform was wet. Deanna held her shoulders gently. "You don't like it, because it's always unpleasant to be heartbroken. I can assure you this is a very normal reaction to falling in love and losing the relationship. I've done it a few times. The first time is the most difficult." As she spoke it brought up a memory of a very young, very attractive Will Riker -- Deanna smiled at the thought and set it aside easily.

"Annika, I'm so sorry you were hurt. What would you like to do? How can I help you with this?"

Her stance had always been to offer choices. With people who had been traumatized by being kidnapped or held captive, she made a point of it. Feeling that extreme loss of control was incredibly disturbing, and reminding the victim in multiple ways that it wasn't the case any longer seemed to help them ground themselves. Annika nodded in appreciation of the question. "Part of me wants to hide. But I don't have a place to go. I also know that you will encourage me to spend time with others, because your solution to all of my emotional issues includes relying on social contacts."

Deanna refrained from commenting on her other impulse, to retreat to old habits such as being a former Borg and afraid of negative emotions. "I'm actually hoping that you might help me," she said, as an idea struck her. "I may have mentioned that I am teaching a course on the psychology of adversarial species with a focus on assisting the next generation of starship officers in developing ways to make peace with them. There are, of course, many who are anxious about future encounters with the Collective. It occurs to me that you might be a great help in informing my curriculum."

"I would be happy to help." Annika had, many times, expressed her gratitude and her wish that she could repay them for helping her.

"Let's go talk about it. I have a favorite cafe down the street."

As they left Academy grounds and the deserted sidewalks that were typical during class time, they started to encounter people -- civilians some of the time, but more often Starfleet officers, likely affiliated with Command. The old Presidio grounds were next door to the complex that made up Starfleet Command. Annika wasn't paying any attention; she was lost in thought, and could not sense the interest from the occasional passer-by.

"You can stay at the house with us tonight if you wish," Deanna said, knowing the offer would likely be rejected. The children were all empathic and Cordelia would be most concerned about Annika's feelings. She more than the others had come to love their latest adopted family member and would attempt to help her any time Annika felt any sadness or disturbance.

"Thank you. I do not wish to disrupt anything the children are doing. I intend to find a hotel."

"Have you contacted Irene?" The aunt she had located, her father's sister, lived in the greater New York metroplex. Over time Annika had begun to talk to her only living relative via subspace, sporadically, more often messaging back and forth.

Annika was obviously anxious about finally meeting Irene. She was looking at a storefront, but incredibly tense -- Deanna knew that clothing did not threaten her so much any more, though it was an issue earlier, when she'd first come aboard. As they strolled toward the cafe, Annika glanced at her and then refocused on where she was walking. "I informed her that I would finally be on Earth. I haven't scheduled a time to see her."

They walked onward, and at the corner, in front of the Prime Directive Cafe, "Our Coffee Sends You To Warp Speed," Deanna came to a stop and faced her former client. Annika had her hair in a neat roll on the back of her head, wore very little make-up, and regarded her with a calm smile -- she'd calmed significantly just walking with her mentor. Her eyes traveled up and around, as they had been doing occasionally. "Earth is not unlike other worlds I have visited."

"For those who are from Earth, I suspect the difference is purely an emotional one."

"Attachment to one's place of origin is not unlike the attachment you feel to the _Enterprise_ , I think," Annika said, following her in through the swinging trans-aluminum door. The place wasn't busy, but there were two small groups of cadets present, in their white unitards with the departmental colors on the shoulders. This time it was Deanna who attracted attention. As she sat down with Annika to pick up menu padds one of the blue-shouldered cadets approached. He brought his heels together and came to attention at their table. Deanna glanced up at him and hid her annoyance with a nonchalant look.

"Cadet?"

"Sir, on the assignment -- are we -- "

Deanna's sharp look silenced him. "There is an appropriate way to contact me about assignments, Cadet. I don't appreciate this interruption."

"Sorry, sir," the young man said, backing off. "Sorry." He shot a look at Annika -- Deanna could tell that had been the real reason for his approach, to get a closer look and smile at her.

After he was once again in the far corner with his four companions, all of them now shooting glances at them and smiling, Deanna shook her head. "Some of our future officers, if they don't do stupid things."

"Such as attempting to look down my dress," she mumbled, looking down at her menu. "You are less indulgent of them since leaving the _Enterprise_."

"Yes, indeed. These aren't graduates. They make far more mistakes to correct. See anything you'd like to try?" She indicated the menu.

They had ordered and were waiting for their drinks when Jean-Luc got her attention -- Deanna blinked and sat up slightly, and solidified the telepathic connection for the message to come through more clearly. In an instant an exchange of information was achieved, and she smiled and nodded.

"Tell the admiral I said hello," Annika said, as the waiter returned with their tall hot coffee drinks. She looked down into the white ceramic mug sadly.

"Coffee reminds me of Kathryn as well," Deanna said. "Did you at least enjoy your time with her and the family?"

That Annika responded with mixed feelings suggested there was more afoot than a broken heart. "I was happy to see them, but felt out of place. The _Newton_ was very different than  _Voyager,_ and I am also different, as was pointed out to me. It was difficult to accept that the counselor was correct when she warned me that my own changes might affect relationships with others in this way."

"I'm so sorry," Deanna said. "I know exactly what you mean."

Annika was surprised by that, even showing it in her face a bit. "Really?"

"My mother thoroughly disapproved of my career aspirations. I had quite a bit of therapy, while I was in school on Betazed and also while I was here at the Academy. I changed so much in just a few years. When I went home prior to my first assignment in Starfleet it was extremely awkward and we had to get to know each other again, basically. Mother said I was so much like my father that it felt like she hardly knew me. I now look back and see that was a complement -- I developed discipline as an officer that resembled my father's. But it hurt at the time, because she was so upset about being reminded of Daddy and grieving again because she thought she had lost me."

"I felt as though I disappointed Captain Janeway. She was very upset when I told her why I was crying." Her blue eyes started to water just thinking about it.

"You should come home with us," Deanna said, sidestepping something that might bring forth more tears. "Play games with Cordie and Pierre. Have dinner."

Annika took a mouthful of coffee, and wouldn't look at her. But she continued to want to avoid feeling more exposed than she already did. 

The door opened with a sigh of escaping air, and Annika's attention wavered. She glanced up and then stared. Deanna, who'd been sitting with her back to the door, smiled -- Jean-Luc came up behind her and stood at her shoulder, and for a moment the three of them were silent.

"Admiral," Annika said at last. 

"How are you, Annika?" he asked, reaching across to an empty table and swinging round a chair to sit at their tiny two-person round. And then deLio stepped up behind him, facing away from them, obviously on duty. The cadets were one and all staring at the L'norim and properly awed. Deanna smirked and nodded to her husband.

"I would suppose she has already told you," Annika said faintly. "It's good to see you, sir."

Jean-Luc glanced down at the severe black uniform he wore, grimacing, and gave a dismissive wave. "You weren't calling me admiral when you left the  _Enterprise_." 

"I didn't tell him anything other than you were upset. He knew when you called that something was going on, just from the tone of your voice." Deanna exchanged a glance, and a thought, with him. 

"I am on my way to meet with officers who are being returned to Earth after unfortunate encounters on the borders of the Federation," he said very, very quietly. "And I am concerned, Annika, but unfortunately must apologize to you and remove the captain from the cafe to join me. Would you be willing to wait for us in my office at Starfleet Command while we complete a task? Afterward I would like to take the two of you for dinner. I have arranged for the children to be at home with Beverly."

Annika smiled -- she did in fact love her substitute parents. She was as she was now mostly due to Jean-Luc's refusal to give up on her despite her initial resistance, Deanna thought. There were times that Deanna had doubted but persisted because simply handing her over to Starfleet counselors felt like it might be more destructive to her than keeping her aboard. And perhaps Jean-Luc remembered the doubts expressed about him by admirals during the weeks following his recovery from the Borg, and not wanted to subject another person to that in general, more than any actual affection for the stubborn, childish Annika they had met -- it had paid off regardless. They hoped she might become independent of them but Deanna knew it was going to be a slow process. 

They left the cafe and headed to Command, specifically to Tactical Operations. Which was unlike other departments at Command in the level of security -- there were security officers everywhere, and also the building itself had additional safeguards including weaponry. The only other building more heavily defended was the administrative building, where the joint chiefs of staff and fleet admiral were housed. Deanna knew their guest was being scanned from the moment they crossed the pavement outside; Jean-Luc must have briefed security already, as the four officers in the foyer were staring at Annika but said nothing as she stepped up for the retinal scan -- Deanna stood in front of the ten-foot obelisk near the reception desk for hers, and turned to smile at Annika reassuringly. 

In the lift it took a few minutes to get to the appropriate floor, and then they were in the stark black and gray corridor, heading down to the door labeled "R. Adm. Jean-Luc Picard." He took them inside past his adjutant and instructed Annika that she could use the replicator and the head, but accessing the computer would set off an alert. As they left her there she was picking one of the old books off a shelf. 

"What did Kathryn have to say?" Deanna murmured as they walked the corridor away from his door. He gestured at deLio; the L'norim stayed at the office door, at attention. 

"That she was concerned, because they'd exchanged a few words -- some sort of disagreement. Vague," Jean-Luc said. He'd told her there had been a message but not the contents -- also that Deanna had been requested to come along to meet the survivors of the  _Kivan_. At the moment he was on duty, and so he was focused and only moderately tolerant of personal distractions. "I informed Bettencourt that you needed better clearance as a matter of expediency, and being telepathic herself, she understood my reasons. So because you are always in my thoughts, and you are usually referred the very traumatized commanders and captains who survive skirmishes in the Beta Quadrant, you are soon to be cleared to discuss with me the content of my days."

"That will make it much easier for you."

"Indeed. I dislike treating you as though I can't trust you."

They turned a corner, and he stepped into a small room that turned out to be one of the small transporters that he'd told her about, that made it possible to go from one building at Command to another without leaving secure areas. The panel had presets; he tapped one and joined her on the small pad.

They materialized in another room just like the first, and in the corridor she saw at once they were in Starfleet Medical. The first clue was Beverly, standing there in the black-with-blue-shoulders duty uniform. "This way," she said, turning to walk ahead of them. She, like Jean-Luc, was quite focused on duty.

There were six of them in the room -- two of them unconscious on biobeds, the other four sitting up in their beds but looking worse for wear. Beverly gestured and the four staff present left the room. "Please try not to draw this out -- they need rest. I will be just outside the door."

"Thank you, Doctor," Jean-Luc said. 

Deanna went to the nearest biobed and glanced at the panel -- the pale man with cropped black hair laying on the bed was Captain Paul Pembroke, and while she studied the rest of the information available there, the other patients watched her intently. She could sense their interest.

"I am Rear-Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, and this is Captain Deanna Troi," Jean-Luc announced. "We're here to talk to you about the events leading up to the destruction of the _Kivan_."

"Can you help the captain?" 

She turned to look at the speaker -- she'd thought they were all men, but now saw that the blonde with short-cropped hair was female. "I intend to help anyone that I can help."

Jean-Luc took a step toward the woman. "Lieutenant Milne?"

"Yes, sir. I was the second officer." 

Deanna turned back to the biobed, and studied Pembroke more closely. Now that she was actively turning her telepathy to the task, she could tell the man had some level of consciousness. Jean-Luc asked the lieutenant to tell him about the events leading up to the disabling of the ship. Narrowing her eyes, she reached over to touch the man's forehead. 

The question-answer going on behind her stopped. She spent a few seconds reaching, and withdrew. She didn't notice time passing until Jean-Luc touched her back -- she flinched, turning in place, coming back from deep thought.

"Something unusual here," she said quietly. 

He nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"Let me check the rest of them."

The other who appeared unconscious was actually in a coma. The other four let her approach and examine them without comment, each waiting for her to speak. "Were any of you on the bridge when it happened?" she asked at last.

They did not need further prompting to know what she meant. "The other ships came at us -- there were tiny one man craft breaching our shields," the lieutenant commander, Bateson, said. The young woman drew her legs up and hugged her knees in distress.

"Were there other aliens? Other than the Asili," she said. "The others may have come aboard after."

"Yes," said the ensign. He was staring at the floor instead of looking at anyone. "We were getting people in sickbay... they were increasingly delusional. Some of them were raving. Talking about things that couldn't happen. They started to die."

"They were hallucinating. But you did not?" she asked.

He blinked, and finally looked at her with pained brown eyes. "No. I was trying to help. The doctor too. But all we could see was the brain chemistry -- erratic changes in the neurotransmitters that made no sense. And that led to other symptoms. The digestive tract shut down. Some were having what appeared to be seizures -- there was no history of such things, all of them were healthy, and no toxins or other potential cause."

"I understand," she said. "I know what it was. I know how to help you. I'll be back tomorrow, to get started. I'm going to ask the doctors to give you a sedative so you can sleep without dreaming."

The relief in their faces said it all. The woman looked at her again, crying. "Thank you."

Jean-Luc headed for the door, and Deanna followed. She waited until the door closed behind them and they stood in the corridor with Beverly to speak.

"It's telepathic damage. Are they the only survivors?"

Beverly's bleak look confirmed it. "The _Kivan_ had a crew compliment of eight hundred forty-two, at the time of the battle. Fourteen weren't accounted for, most of the deaths were due to violence, but twenty-nine were simply deceased with some anomalous readings that didn't add up to any disease or medical condition we could identify."

"The captain is not in a coma. He is somewhat conscious. If you have someone on staff who is telepathic who could sit with him, to keep watch, it might help him. I'll be back tomorrow to attempt to help him first. It will be useful to have them in separate rooms before I begin. I don't want the others to observe while I'm working with one of them." Deanna sighed, thinking about her one class tomorrow. "I have the basic psychology class in the morning. I'll be here at eleven hundred."

"We'll be ready for you," Beverly said. "You're sure you want to start tomorrow?"

"I don't think I should wait. The others could be postponed, but I think the captain is losing ground. He's in some internal world all his own, and I couldn't detect any hint that he heard me when I attempted contact. I didn't want to probe too deeply without sufficient time to help him."

"I thought the K'Korll were gone," Beverly said, crossing her arms.

"This is something else. I think it's Sisnok influence," she replied, glancing at Jean-Luc.

"That was one suspicion that I had -- I'm sorry to hear it confirmed. We should return to my office."

"I'll see you later," Beverly said. "About seventeen thirty, you said?"

"Yes. Thank you, Beverly. We'll leave a bottle of the good wine out for you," Jean-Luc said.

After they transported back to Tactical Ops, he led the way down to where deLio stood watch outside his office. Annika put down the book as they came in.

"I'd like to go home and change," Deanna said. The clock on the wall said they'd been at Starfleet Medical for half an hour longer than she'd thought. One of the problems with working in the telepathic realm -- she tended to lose track of the passage of time.

"You are dismissed, Captain." He turned to Annika, seated in one of the chairs before the desk. "Do you want to go with her, or wait here for me to go speak to someone? I should be finished shortly."

"I will go with Deanna -- I should change also," she said, coming to her feet. There was a moment of hesitation, and then she stepped up to him -- he seemed frozen in shock as she reached up and hugged him, for the first time. She retreated at once and hurried out the door. Deanna turned to follow. Annika was mortified, for some reason.

They made it all the way out of the building before Deanna actually looked at the young woman who had been struggling with herself for more than twenty floors in the lift and almost a quarter of a mile of corridors. Annika was red-faced and doing her best not to break down.

"You startled him," she said quietly.

"I did not think," Annika blurted. "I didn't want to -- I merely felt -- "

"Annika. I understand. You wanted to express how much you missed him. I think he understands that." And if for some reason he misconstrued, she could set him straight. "It was only a hug. His children do that all the time. You do not, typically, and because you don't he was startled. That's all."

"He was not welcoming of it. I made a mistake," she said, actually stopping in mid-stride and covering her face with her hands.

Deanna grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake, just enough to get her attention, so she let her hands drop to look at her. "Even if that were true, it's not going to lead to him rejecting you. You'll be able to apologize to him later. Let's go -- I'll show you our house, and help you find something to wear."

Even though she pulled it together enough to walk with Deanna all the way to the house, Annika was still on edge. She sat stiffly at the dining room table sipping tea. Deanna chatted with her about superficialities and waited. Finally, Annika looked up from her tea cup, and met Deanna's eyes with a seriousness she couldn't mistake.

"I am sorry that I hugged your husband," she said quietly.

Deanna could have brought up the memory of Annika, when she had first arrived on the _Enterprise_ and made several attempts to gain Jean-Luc's attention -- this would not have been a real issue had Annika not still felt that same attraction. She doubted that Annika thought about that period at all, as later it had disturbed her a great deal to revisit the earlier months of her time with them; she felt great shame, processing in counseling her time as a Borg and working through to gaining an understanding of her own emotional needs, her own immature and irrational mindset, and moving forward into what she was today. That she had hugged Jean-Luc out of affection and realized she was still attracted to him had been obvious. The distress after the fact had to do with the potential that she believed existed for her to lose friendships in the aftermath of her behavior.

"It occurs to me that you may be under a great deal of stress at the moment, and therefore less able to make completely rational decisions," Deanna said, couching the sentiment in terms that would make it easier for her to hear. "Annika, you wanted to hug someone who has been and will continue to be concerned for your welfare -- you may still have a simpler understanding of the nuances of relationships at this point in your development. Were I to feel threatened by Jean-Luc being touched or embraced by others, I would be a petty and angry individual, on an ongoing basis. Beverly, Bell, Kathryn, and others have all done the same. What he feels, and what the other person feels, about this kind of contact tells me what I need to know about the motivations behind the behavior. Please take a deep breath."

Annika obeyed, as she often did, and though she still felt a great deal of anxiety, seemed reassured somewhat. "You do not feel it was wrong?"

"I'm not convinced that anyone does, except for you. Jean-Luc was surprised, not upset."

Annika's gaze dropped to the table, as she held the china cup in both hands and considered this information. "He does not like being touched."

Deanna almost laughed at it. "Do you remember the long conversation we had about the impact of touch, its role in human relationships, and how Starfleet officers get into trouble sometimes when they make bad assumptions and inappropriately make advances on someone?"

"Yes." She thought it was an indictment of her mistake; she stared into her cup, dismay on her face.

"He doesn't want to be misunderstood. Simpler to avoid touching people, without first having a mutual understanding of what it means to each other. Simpler not to engage in such behavior in public, so others do not misunderstand."

"We did discuss this at length, a number of times, but I -- " Her cheeks were pink, again.

"You were in an intimate relationship for the first time, with a man, and it's very common for humans to re-work and reprocess old emotional content when there is a significant change in their lives. I'm sorry that I sound like a counselor, but it's been true in my life as well -- each time I have a new relationship with someone, regardless of what kind of relationship it is, I'm working through my emotions and my old memories again. It's natural. And it's very different, to be abstract in discussing relationships, than it is to be in one."

"You are once again informing me that I'm being too hard on myself," Annika said with a wistful smile.

"I am informing you that all humans tend to be hard on themselves when they feel they've made mistakes. You are being normal."

She laughed -- it was something she rarely did, unless she was with the younger children. She was sipping tea when the front door opened, and the oncoming wave of joy and affection that Deanna had sensed for blocks crested -- the twins raced into the dining room, clearly informed in advance of their guest, and took up positions on either side of Annika's chair, to grin and greet and, of course, to hug her. Cordelia was so happy to see her that she started to tell Annika everything that had happened at school, with Pierre filling in his bits.

Jean-Luc came in, with Yves at his side, and Deanna took a moment to enjoy how their son was looking more and more like his father every day. Yves was nearly at his full height, and when they were smiling the resemblance between them could cause a double-take. "I thought you were changing out of that uniform," Jean-Luc scolded.

"Yes, I should do that. Yves can make Annika some more tea. What's Amy so involved in that she can't come greet our guest?"

"She spilled something on her dress today," Yves said, turning to Annika. "How are you? How's Kathryn and the kids, and Chakotay?"

"Let's play a game," Cordelia blurted, bouncing in place. Pierre agreed.

As Amy arrived to add to the chaos, Deanna escaped, shooting an amused look at Annika and catching Jean-Luc's hand to lead him through the kitchen and down the hall toward their rooms. "Another day, another drama," she murmured with a sigh as they entered their bedroom.

"Have you sorted out what happened with Kathryn?" He started at the throat and worked the uniform jacket open, whipping it open and shrugging it off. The closet door slid open as he approached, and he reached in for a hanger.

"I was too busy sorting out the catastrophe of hugging you." She was slower to remove her jacket, and came to hang it up as well. Rather than take off his own shirt he tugged at hers, and she let him pull it up over her head, dislodging the pins in her hair as the turtleneck dragged over it. She shook it out and started on the pants.

"We have another guest coming," Jean-Luc said. He dropped his own discarded undershirt in the hamper in the bottom of the closet, on top of hers. "Commander Natalia Greenman."

Deanna turned from her appraisal of the dresses in the end of the closet. "Oh," she exclaimed.

"When Geordi took over Utopia Planitia, she accepted first officer on the _Valiant._ They brought the survivors from the _Kivan_ to Earth, at transwarp. She's out on the town, tonight, but accepted my invitation to come for a visit tomorrow evening." Jean-Luc's anticipation of seeing their friend was tempered by something -- wariness, or nervousness, perhaps a little of both.

"And?"

"She's bringing someone with her."

Deanna turned a grin on him. "Look at you, being so protective."

"Dee," he chided. "She's someone's first officer."

"Captain Shelby's first officer, to be exact." Elisabeth Shelby had lost her vessel in a battle -- limped it back into Federation space, and the engineers had deemed it too damaged to be worth salvaging. She had been given the latest incarnation of the _Valiant_ , another of the Sovereign class vessels. "Being first officer hasn't kept you from feeling that you need to protect me, either."

"It took coming down to Earth and not being at imminent risk of a red alert on a constant basis for that to happen."

He put on a green sweater, a different pair of slacks, and found a pair of shoes. She turned around so he could fasten the back of her brilliant green dress. Deanna headed into the spacious, gleaming bathroom and selected a band to put up her hair -- she picked out a couple of pins, dropped them in the dish, picked up her brush, and started to work at the wiry strands. She'd found her hair was dry now, and needed more moisturizing than before. The full-length mirror on the wall at the end of the counter showed her an older woman with disheveled hair. It was in fact projecting her against a configurable backdrop, at the moment a seascape.

"Computer, access my personal records. Project in parallel an image of me, from 2364."

The second image of her appeared as Jean-Luc came in the bathroom behind her. "Well, there's someone I haven't seen in a long time," he said, his shoes tapping on the tile floor. "Counselor Troi, I presume?"

Deanna stared at the image of her younger, slimmer self in the old uniform -- blue, short skirt, thigh high boots, and her hair pulled up on the crown of her head in a severe bun. She'd done her eye make-up differently then, with plenty of eyeliner.

Jean-Luc put a hand on her hip and pulled her against him slightly. She watched their reflection do the same; the older image of her stood there, staring back at them, a bland smile in place.

"Computer, discontinue image," he said. Counselor Troi vanished. He bent his head to kiss her -- she turned into the kiss, as he told her how much he preferred the version he had now.

The inevitable broke them apart -- Cordelia shrieked at the top of her lungs, at Pierre, for some infraction he'd committed. "I'll be back to admire the end result in a minute," he said, spinning to head for the door. "We have a reservation at the French restaurant in an hour."

Alone, Deanna stared at her reflection for another moment, ignoring the noises from the rest of the house, as Jean-Luc restored order. She brushed her hair, put the band in place, and turned to wash her face before re-doing her make-up.


	5. Husbands

The house was quiet, when Jean-Luc woke. It wasn't daylight, yet, and he heard Deanna's regular breathing to his right -- she had been up late last night talking to Annika and then taking her to the hotel, at Annika's insistence. He relaxed and let himself doze again, thinking about the situation. He'd updated Bettencourt, and after their brief discussion he'd made a subspace contact with five vessels to send them on their way to patrol the border. There would be a meeting after Deanna had hopefully revived Captain Pembroke and would be able to provide more information. And then, he'd been able to leave Command, go to pick up the children from school, bring them all home, go out to dinner and listen to Deanna discuss with Annika what helping her with the course she taught might involve. 

It was, he thought, still feeling a bit like a vacation. Though having to deal with the same sort of crisis, handling it from afar and assigning others rather than staying on duty for an extended period, was quite a change. It didn't feel quite real. 

Having Annika return from the  _Newton_ in a state of heightened anxiety was dismaying, but not entirely unexpected. As far as she'd come, he knew she wasn't quite to the point of feeling completely capable of independence. That she had a fling with someone on Kathryn's ship was not surprising either. Her state of overwhelm was disappointing, however. He wondered if Deanna was correct in assuming part of the problem might have been conflict with Kathryn.

Deanna made an indistinct noise of the sort that usually preceded being awake. He rolled over and reached for her, and she responded to his arm across her by burrowing down and wriggling backward until they were spooned together under the covers. 

"Cold?"

"Hmmm." Her thoughts came to him slowly, trickling in as if a faucet were being slowly turned on. She was still tired, a little ache in the head -- a little too much wine, he thought, and she agreed. She knew everyone else was still asleep, and he could see from the digital readout on her bedside table that they had an hour before they needed to get up and start the day.

She thought about sex, and he thought about being fine just as they were, warm and bundled together, and within minutes they were half-asleep and wandering through a fantasy of being able to sleep in. He wished for a week -- should have made it part of the deal, he thought, a week off and just the two of them, but she countered by thinking about how difficult it had already been for the children.

And then there was a muted sound of a communicator, and he groaned aloud. 

"Noooo," she moaned, dragging the covers over her head.

He rolled, reaching, and found his badge on his side of the bed on the table. "It's not mine."

Deanna lunged for the table on her side, and then off the side to come up with the small handbag she'd taken to dinner the previous evening. The badge sounded again as she pulled it out. "Troi, here."

"Captain," the voice of Elisabeth Shelby said.

"Elisabeth -- I hope nothing is wrong," Deanna said, falling back on her pillow after dropping the badge on the covers.

"Not at all. I was trying to catch you before you had to head off to the Academy -- see if you had time for lunch today. I'm to debrief with Jean-Luc this morning, so wanted to find time to see you before we're sent back into the far reaches of the Federation."

"I won't be able to do lunch today," she said, thinking about the commitment to be at Starfleet Medical. "But I may be able to see you tomorrow."

"I'll plan on it, unless we're given our orders to go sooner." There was a few seconds' pause. "I caught you too early, didn't I?"

"It was always my habit to be up before dawn, when we were on the _Enterprise_ , but yes, it's different now. It's no problem. I hope we can meet tomorrow."

"See you soon. Shelby, out."

Deanna grabbed the badge, swung her arm over and dropped the badge on the bedside table. Burrowing under the covers again, she slid over and crawled on top of him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. He chuckled and let her lay there. When it became less comfortable, she roused herself to move again. Something about how she felt concerned him. Then he remembered finding her looking at the mirror, at the image of her younger self, and sighed.

"I should go to the kitchen, the kids are up." She walked around the bed to the closet and got a robe.

"You should come back here," he mumbled. "All of the kids are ambulatory and able to put things in their mouths without assistance."

She stood at the end of the bed and looked at him, irritated. He smiled up at her, feeling resigned and regretful, wishing there was some way to convince her there was absolutely nothing wrong with her -- she was, after all, a Starfleet officer. Strong, and thinner than a mother of four tended to be. Just a little over a month away from ship duty but still in quite good shape, probably still able to throw around grown men at a whim. Under his gaze, sensing all of this running through his thoughts, she started to smile, and waver, and then came up the bed to drop on top of him again, on top of the covers.

"Good girl," he said, patting her shoulder and reaching over to flip the bedspread over her.

"I know for a fact that you sometimes feel old," she mumbled against his neck.

"And that may happen again, but I like how we're feeling right now." He started to think about sex, now, too.

A tapping on the door made her giggle. "Able to put things in their mouths, but unable to control what's coming out," she said.

"Get out!" he shouted. "Go away!"

"Papa! He won't stop!"

Deanna started to laugh, got up from the bed, and tied her robe as she went. "Nice try, Papa."

Sighing, Jean-Luc got up to join her in the effort to mediate. The twins were, of course, arguing over next to nothing, and redirecting them was all that was needed. After showers and getting dressed for the day they all sat down to breakfast and Yves asked about going after school to spend some time doing homework with his friend, Rebecca.

"I don't see why that would be a problem," Jean-Luc said. "As long as you're home for dinner." He glanced at Deanna, seated on his right hand, and turned his attention back to breakfast. All the children were on the other side of the table facing them, so it was easy to see their faces.

"Papa, is Annika coming for dinner tonight?" Cordelia asked, as she chased a few bits of potato and egg with her fork.

"I don't know. She may come visit this weekend. We're going riding on Saturday morning with the Rikers, but she might come later in the afternoon." Jean-Luc looked up from his plate casually and saw that Yves had a surprised look on his face.

"Why are the Rikers coming with us?" Yves asked.

"It bothers you?" Deanna asked diffidently, though she knew and shared with Jean-Luc that the information had alarmed their son and that Amy also did not like the idea.

"I just thought it was supposed to be family time. John doesn't really like us much." Yves bit into the sandwich he'd replicated for himself and reached for his juice glass.

"You haven't spent much time with them, I know. Will is between vessels, and so they are all staying here in San Francisco until he decides whether to accept another vessel or find a posting on Earth. It's a good opportunity to get to know them better."

Yves glanced at Amy, who was done eating the muffin and peeling a piece of fruit. She shook her head. Yves shrugged. "Papa, what if we don't want to do that? I know you're really good friends with Captain Riker, but John isn't someone I really want to know."

"Do you like Annika?" Deanna asked. She rose and took Jean-Luc's mug along with hers to get more coffee. She stepped into the kitchen and spoke as she poured. "You seem to enjoy spending time with her."

"We do," Yves said. "She's not like anyone else I've ever met. But she's nice."

"In what way is she not like anyone else?" Jean-Luc asked, curious about that observation.

"She's really careful with people. She always asks if she's offending or doing something the right way," Pierre said.  

"She likes to play games with me," Cordelia exclaimed. "Unlike some people who just like to  _argue_."

"Hey," Pierre complained. "Just because I say something when you cheat!"

"Do not!"

Jean-Luc raised his head and put down his fork, and stared at the two of them until they noticed and shrugged uncomfortably, then went back to eating. The rule about fighting during meals was not negotiable. "I'm sure Annika will be spending time with you. She may be working with your mother, some of the time. And it's clear that we still need a babysitter to keep you from initiating auto-destruct."

"Can Malcolm come over after school?" Yves asked. 

"We should put bunk beds in Yves' room," Amy commented with a roll of the eyes. 

Instead of sniping at his sister, he grinned at her. "While you dig a tunnel to Neema's house?"

Amy laughed, kicked her brother gently under the table, and pushed what was left of her croissant in her mouth. 

"If Malcolm's mother approves, that would be fine, but he's going home after," Deanna said. "And you and your father will be seeing about dinner." She didn't mention Natalia, probably wanting that to be a surprise.

"What time will you be home?" Jean-Luc asked her. 

"If the procedure goes as it normally does, I'll have Beverly drop me off mid-afternoon."

At the word "procedure" the kids, one and all, went quiet and glanced at each other. Cordelia left her chair, ran around the table, and sidled in between her parents' chairs and reached up -- Deanna leaned in to accept the hug and kissed Cordelia's forehead. Amy stood up, holding her own plate and picking up Yves' then going around the other end to take them to the kitchen. 

In the flitter on the way to school, the somber mood persisted. "Anything I should know before you all leap out of the vehicle and run for your lives?" Jean-Luc asked, as the vehicle slowly moved along in the line of other vehicles waiting to drop off kids at Mercy Hills.

"Does Maman have to keep doing that procedure?" Cordelia asked. She sat in the front seat today -- apparently there was some sort of schedule they had to determine who had that coveted place in the flitter. 

"She doesn't have to, but it does help people who very much need that -- there are some people who were hurt in a battle with the Asili." They were not of course ignorant of what that meant. Deanna had been honest, in a limited fashion, with the children about the reason she often wasn't able to do as much as usual with them, when she had started to take on trauma patients.

"She's helping people like Papa," Yves said from the back seat. "She was Papa's counselor, before they were married."

"I know. But it makes her so tired," Cordelia said. 

"We're still Starfleet, and sometimes sacrifices are part of being in Starfleet," Jean-Luc said. "And it may not be exactly in her job description but it's a great help to the fleet, to have officers returning to duty as quickly as possible. Here we are -- have a good day."

"Bye Papa," Cordelia said, opening the door and leaping out. The back seats emptied as well as Amy and Pierre launched themselves, and Yves lingered for a moment.

"I'll tell Malcolm he can come later this week," he said.

"Thank you. You know we don't intend to force you to be friends with John Riker."

Yves smiled. "I know. Maman's helping Uncle Will. I can tell. It's okay." He was off, his book bag bouncing on his back, and the door closed behind him.

"Computer, home," Jean-Luc said, letting the system do the driving. He tapped his comm badge. "Picard to Simms."

"Simms here, Admiral."

"Is there any reason that I need to be in the office before nine hundred this morning?"

"The meeting with Captain Shelby is at eleven thirty, and there are no urgent messages for you at the moment, sir."

"Good. I'll be in between nine thirty and ten. Picard out."

When he got home, Deanna was putting her hair up. She watched his approach in the bathroom mirror -- at least she wasn't comparing herself to herself again, just braiding her hair. He reached up to help her put it up.

"You don't have to be at the office?"

"I do, not right away though. I wanted to spend a few more minutes with my wife. Is that a bad thing?"

Her reflection smiled, and she leaned back against him. "Not according to her."

"I have to wonder how long it will be until the next big crisis."

"The goal was to move away from the next big crisis, to something less traumatic and more predictable. To finish raising the children, and slowly ease away into retirement."

He laughed at the optimism. "Deanna."

"I know. You think I'm never going to retire. You think the crises won't stop. Maybe that's true." She turned in place and put her arms over his shoulders. "I may take a break, however, to spend some time with you."

"I'm happy to settle for a few days of vacation with you here and there, until I get tired of placating admirals and issuing orders to captains. What else can I do for you?"

"You can drop me off at the Academy. I still have a class to teach this morning."

On the way out to the garage, they passed Fidele, reclining in the foyer, waiting. Jean-Luc leaned to pat the dog's head. "Why don't you come with me today?"

"I would like that," Fidele said, jumping to his feet. The tall red hound followed eagerly and waited for the back door to open, hopping into the back seat.

"If I didn't think he would be distracting I'd take him with me some days," Deanna said, as they got in the front of the flitter.

After leaving the garage, they stopped next door -- deLio had been waiting for them, and rode in the back. The distance to the Academy and Command was not great; Jean-Luc took the vehicle mostly to have it close at hand to retrieve the kids from school, which was far enough away that it made more sense to drive. He briefly considered walking Deanna to the classroom, but she smiled and leaned over to kiss him good bye and then left him in the vehicle. As she walked away he gave the order and the flitter took him around the Academy campus, down the street to Command, and into the secure parking area near Tactical Operations. Fidele pranced along at heel up to the front door, and inside the building they were stopped by security.

"He's not a pet. He's also security," Jean-Luc said.

deLio nodded curtly. "You will find Fidele Picard in the system. I registered him as a civilian contractor, personal security for the Picard family."

Fidele stood without flinching from them as one of the officers scanned him. The man showed the other two the tricorder readings. "That's a convincing artificial dog," one of them said.

"Thank you," Fidele replied. The three security officers stared after them as Fidele walked sedately at heel toward the turbolifts.

They rode upward in the turbolift. Jean-Luc glanced at deLio. "Natalia Greenman will be at the house tonight, if you have any interest in stopping in."

"I do. Thank you, Admiral." The L'norim paused, watching the numbers change and stop on their floor. "I would like to talk to you about a birthday party for my _nectilat_."

"We'll discuss it on the ride home this afternoon," Jean-Luc said. This was something that happened from time to time, the L'norim family he had agreed to sponsor years ago would want to include him in their rituals and occasionally the children would want to experiment with the rituals of the people they were surrounded by, interested in experiencing them for themselves. The L'norim children had come to parties for the Picard children since they were able to exhibit adequate self control. Apparently they wanted one for themselves now.

Shelby was waiting with Simms in the front office; both of them came to attention when he entered. "Good morning," he said, pointing at the replicator and heading for the door to his office. The well-appointed office he'd been given suggested he would be pretty busy meeting with personnel, and Simms had a standing order to screen carefully.

Shelby followed him in and came to attention in front of his desk.

"At ease. You're very early," he said. 

"I am. Thought I would take the chance you might be able to see me sooner."

"As it happens, I would benefit from this strategy as well. Report," he said, taking a seat. Fidele had followed them in; he sat upright in a corner slightly behind and to the left of the desk.

Elisabeth smiled as she sat down, and turned to look when the door opened again -- Simms brought in a pot of coffee, two cups, cream and sugar. He left the tray on the end of the desk and departed. Since it was in easy reach, Jean-Luc poured two cups.

The details, as Elisabeth gave them, were familiar enough. Her staff had examined the _Kivan_ in great detail prior to towing it back to a starbase and bringing the survivors to Earth at transwarp. There were aliens in stasis at the forensic department of Starfleet Medical and two of the bodies sounded like Sisnok.

"How is Pembroke?" Shelby asked, after the questions and answers about the vessel had been exchanged.

"Captain Troi will be working with the doctors today to help him."

That diminished Elisabeth's smile by half. "She's still doing that?"

"To date, she's found no one else who is able to -- Starfleet has asked her to assist when there is a need. There are still too many questions to answer in this. And as you know, Pembroke has not been conscious since he was recovered, though I am told he is not in a coma."

Elisabeth considered him seriously. "How is she? How are you?"

Jean-Luc smiled at their friend. "The adjustment to the change in scenery is still under way. Too soon to call it. How is Natalia settling in?"

"She's been aboard for three months. She's fine. I hear that's largely due to your old first officer showing her how to be a hardass."

"We are as hard as is called for by the situations we face," Jean-Luc said, reaching for the pot to refill his cup. 

Elisabeth's posture relaxed a little, now that they were talking about personal issues. "I heard Will lost his ship the same way I lost mine. Sounds like a lot of transitions all around. Do you miss it?"

He had to think about the answer. "I can't say that I do, really. Perhaps that will change at some point."

"I've thought about how I'll make that transition myself. It's not easy to think about. I don't know what I'll do."

"The possibilities are endless. Nat is coming for dinner tonight. Said she's bringing someone with her -- but she's not giving me a name."

Elisabeth chuckled about that. "I think you'll like him. I won't spoil the surprise. Tell the kids I said hello."

"I will. You'll be redeployed tomorrow morning, so give your officers the day off. I recommend the beaches in Crete."

"Thanks. I can tell I'll enjoy working for you," she said, putting the cup on the edge of his desk as she got up. "Anything else, Admiral?"

"Keep up the good work. You're dismissed, Captain."

After Shelby was gone, Simms stuck his head in. "Sir, Captain Riker is here."

"Well, I suppose I'll need more coffee then. Bring him in."

Will came in with a grin and reaching across the desk to shake, as Simms went about replacing the coffee. "I took a chance -- wanted to see if I could catch you between appointments." 

"Is there an occasion?"

"Not really, other than I needed a reason to get out of the house. I'm still thinking about options and while I know you don't give advice, I wanted to check in with you on it just the same." 

They settled in with coffee at hand. As it was his third cup, Jean-Luc left his alone, for now, and watched Will take a sip and nod. "Are you still bringing John this Saturday?"

"I am. Even though he continues to complain. I can't -- " Suddenly Will was frowning. "Have you ever felt like a failure?"

"As a parent? Of course. About the tenth lap around one of the lower decks trying to get Amy to stop screaming, and a few times since then."

Will stared at him with an unreadable expression. "Really?"

"I'm told by reliable sources it's a common thing to feel insecure about parenting. Especially when the child is strong willed and the problem defies your better efforts to solve it."

"John was always stubborn," Will said, sinking back in his chair. "But he didn't start to be defiant and deceitful until last year. Bell caught him lying to get out of class and wandering corridors -- he was good at telling people who asked whatever lies kept him from being caught, but it caught up to him eventually."

"What did you do when he was caught?"

Will shook his head. "Already been round and round with the counselors about that. I did the wrong thing, for a minute. I yelled. I was disappointed. We got the counselor involved, and he wasn't allowed anywhere without supervision for a long time. We thought we were able to trust him but he took advantage of that. Now I'm going back and forth between a position here at Command and another vessel. I'm getting encouragement both directions, from different people. But I think I need to be with my family more than I need a ship."

Jean-Luc picked up the coffee and thought about being in that position. "Are you feeling as though you should be on a ship, if not for the family? It's a tough position to be in. I can't say I didn't think of giving up at different points -- when each of the kids were born, when Deanna was having so many difficulties.... What does Bell say?"

"That's the thing... she isn't saying. She tells me that as long there's a place for here where I'm stationed, she'll go. But her happiness matters."

From things Will and Bell had said over the years, there had been a lot of changes in their relationship. Most for the better. Jean-Luc hadn't seen Bell since returning to Earth, however, and so it was hard to guess where they were at currently. "What does she think you both should be doing about John?"

"We're trying to do what the counselor suggests." Will stared at him for a few seconds, as if hesitating to say something he wanted to say. It made Jean-Luc hope that he wouldn't say it. "She wants to talk to Deanna about how the two of you handled your kids."

"I'm not sure how that would help you. We're raising empaths." There were other reasons that comparisons were useless, but that was the most obvious one.

"I did mention that," Will said. "I think she's wanting more than what the counselor's telling us."

Jean-Luc understood that. "It's going to become a matter of changing your relationship with him, more than anything else."

Will blinked. "That's an interesting thing to say."

"It's what it amounted to, each time something else happened. Amy had problems until the specialist was able to help her. Our relationship with her changed radically after she got better. My relationship with Deanna changed while I recovered from brain damage. It changed after she went through the Phase, became pregnant with the twins, and we worked through all the grief that accompanied putting them in the incubator. My relationship with Yves changed after he became an empath, and I couldn't hide my embarrassment or shame that remained when certain things were brought up -- I had to finally deal with that and help him understand it didn't have anything to do with him. John has changed in a way you didn't anticipate and so the relationship must change to get him to change. You get to decide your changes, to hopefully bring about the change you wish to see in him. Part of your change should be in anticipation of what you want your relationship with him to look like, when he's become less defiant and resistant."

"So you think that my changing my approach to him will help change him?" Will took a moment to mull. "Deanna said something about not letting his anger keep us from loving him. That sounds like what you're saying."

In the back of his mind, Jean-Luc felt the bond go quiet. Most of the time he didn't think about it much, but when Deanna was working with some client's trauma, she would block him out completely -- she must have finished the class, or possibly left it to one of her assistants, and gone on to tackle the more difficult of today's tasks. "We've had discussions about handling challenges that each of the kids have presented to us. I don't believe we discussed that particular tactic in detail, but it was in summary what we always did."

"I think I need to find a good posting here on Earth," Will said with a sigh. He scratched his chin and shook his head. "I can't just go back into ship duty when it's probably what landed us in this position -- spending too much time on the bridge and not enough with my kids."

"You should talk to Bettencourt. There are a few positions open in TacOps."

"Can I have a reference?"

Jean-Luc snorted. "Of course."

Suddenly a stabbing pain lanced through Jean-Luc's head. He inhaled sharply, raising a hand to his forehead and wincing.

"Jean-Luc?"

The pain receded quickly. Then the double chirp of his badge intervened. "Crusher to Picard." Beverly sounded breathless.

"I know," he replied, rising to his feet. "I'm on my way."


	6. Same Story, Different Sickbay

Deanna came back abruptly to the sound of her own gasping, to a racing heart, and her husband holding her against his chest, raising her part of the way off the biobed.

"There you are," he murmured.

"It was a trap," she cried. Sensing his happiness did little to offset the realization that the problem with Pembroke had been a deliberate attempt to inflict harm.

"Later. Take a breath... we're all right," he said. "It's been a few hours."

"Jean. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Admiral Bettencourt sends her best wishes for a speedy recovery. The sensors have no doubt alerted -- "

The sound of the door opening preceded a round of anxiety, as Beverly arrived to review all the readings. Their friend lost the all-business demeanor rapidly, touching Deanna's shoulder. "You're doing okay. And while I would ordinarily say you need to stay overnight, I know the end result will be a crowd in your room, so we're sending you home with a monitor and an order to beam right back here if you experience any disturbing symptoms. I'm giving your husband instructions on what to keep an eye out for, before we discharge."

Deanna groaned and lay there in the sickbay gown, hating how many times this had to happen that it felt routine. Jean-Luc was still in uniform, and tired. "I have some of your clothes handy."

"How long have I been out?"

"The kids will be happy to see you're awake," he said, picking up a shirt that sat on a pile of folded clothing on his left, near the head of the biobed. Beverly, standing over her on the other side of the bed, smiled sympathetically.

"Don't worry. We had someone take your classes today," Beverly said.

"How long was I unconscious?" Deanna demanded, sitting up.

"We can get a late dinner," Jean-Luc said. "Unless you aren't hungry."

"Why are you not answering me? Computer, time."

"The time is twenty-two hundred and fourteen."

"Two days," Jean-Luc said. "Doctor, if you would give us a minute?"

Beverly gave them a knowing look. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'll come by the house around noon," she said, and headed out the door.

Jean-Luc turned back to her, holding out his arms. She came off the biobed and accepted the embrace, sighing heavily. "If they are setting traps there is more to be done," she murmured against his shoulder.

"All right, I'll acknowledge that, but you're still out on medical leave and we're going home to put you to bed. Table it. Shall I put the clothes on you?"

She gave him a shove and went about it herself -- she felt unsteady, putting on the pants he'd brought, but improved somewhat. "Is Captain Pembroke all right?"

"You don't remember what happened?"

" _Is he all right_?" Deanna tried to recall what had happened, but nothing was there -- the last thing she remembered was touching the mind of the officer and feeling the sudden surge of fear as she felt a stab of pain. 

"He's in a coma. Beverly said that he died, while you were in the middle of the procedure, and that she almost lost you."

She threw her arms around him again, sensing the remembered pain he'd experienced. "I'm sorry."

This time, he held her tightly and didn't let go for a while. She had to focus more than usual, to reconnect with him, and spent some time with him, thinking it all through -- she cried at his memory of arriving to find the medical staff cleaning her up as she lay unconscious, on life support, and Beverly's frightened expression -- it wasn't supposed to be this way, after all the times she'd helped people like Pembroke, it was merely supposed to be tiring. Will had been there as well, hovering, and then she continued to be unresponsive and Jean-Luc had to contact others to mobilize resources -- he'd been there most of the time she'd been out, and nothing Jean tried to do had helped as it had done in the past. The fear, that she wasn't waking up -- the four terrified children he'd had clinging to their friends for two days, as all four had known at the same time he had that something was wrong. 

She decided that it wouldn't happen again. He thought about previous assertions that she wouldn't do it any more. It was an impasse, until they had moved past this and she healed from whatever damage had occurred.

"Okay," she whispered at last. "Let's go."

She wasn't surprised that he kept his arm around her, as they walked out of the room and down quiet corridors toward the waiting room on the intensive care ward. As the door opened and they passed through it, the kids were leaping out of the chairs. Pandemonium, until she had hugged each of them and Jean-Luc ordered them to settle down. Cordelia clung to her until Jean-Luc intervened.

"Please tell me you weren't here for two days," Deanna said.

"Not all of it," Pierre said.

"Most of it," Amy said.

"We couldn't sleep," Yves exclaimed, giving her a look that tore her heart. She reached to touch his face, and he smiled, the sadness in his eyes fading.

"Let's go home. We'll all sleep as long as we need to," Jean-Luc said.

Deanna fell asleep in the flitter as they drove through the night. She woke again when Jean-Luc was trying to pick her up out of the front seat. She kissed each of the children good night, and accepted her husband's help in undressing and settling into bed.

When she opened her eyes again, Beverly was standing over the bed, smiling down at her. "Hi, Dee. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been asleep for weeks. What time is it?"

Beverly sat down on the edge of the bed. "My tricorder says it's probably time to eat. One of your caretakers should be along shortly with some soup."

"Then I should put on a shirt."

As she was pulling on the one Beverly got for her, out of the wrong drawer but she wore Jean's shirts to bed anyway, Yves came in with the bowl of soup their friend predicted. "I'll go get myself something and be back in a bit -- Tom wants to stop in and say hi, if that's okay?"

Deanna smiled and nodded, and watched the doctor leave. She wondered, and Yves sat down on the edge of the bed and held out the bowl.

"Everyone was so frightened," Yves said. "That's why so many people are here."

She stopped sipping the tomato bisque and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone. Data came all the way back here. Tom keeps showing up every morning. The Rikers keep offering to do things, Bell did our laundry. The first day we were here at home, none of us could even concentrate at school. The second day they let us wait in the hospital -- Tom played games with us, and Papa checked on us from time to time. Geordi showed up at lunchtime yesterday. Captain Shelby showed up around dinnertime, with Natalia and her fiancé."

Deanna carefully put the soup on the night stand. She took her son's hand when he offered it, and watched his eyes.

"I don't even know what to say about Papa," he said, starting to cry.

When Jean-Luc arrived a moment later, she had Yves in her arms and had given up on trying not to cry herself. He went around the bed, and got on it with her, sidling over to put his arm around her. It didn't take long for the twins to show up and climb up and pile in between them. The relief and the happiness were helping, but there was still plenty of residual pain.

"Enough," Jean-Luc said after a few minutes. "You heard Beverly -- not supposed to overwhelm her. Someone needs to help Amy clear away the lunch dishes and take care of our guests."

It launched the twins, and Yves reluctantly left them there as well. Jean-Luc spent a moment embracing her.

"No one thought I was going to recover," she murmured.

"I wasn't going to stop trying to reach you. I couldn't." He kissed her hair. "Do you feel up to making an appearance, before I put you back to bed?"

Deanna tried to gauge what the response would be -- there was a lot of relief and excitement in the house. Just putting forth the effort to sense this made her tired. "I wish that I did. I don't understand why I feel so exhausted."

"You should finish the soup."

She didn't like how he was redirecting her, because it suggested that he thought she was fragile. Which suggested that he'd been told that she was, because he had never treated her that way before. Which meant that Beverly believed she was, and therefore that it must be true. And Beverly hadn't told her anything about her condition, which was also unusual. Also, everyone was showing up.

"You're going to be fine," Jean-Luc said, looking her in the eye.

Deanna swallowed the fear, and tried to believe it with him. "I'm not so hungry, but I'll try."

"Good."

It didn't take long to drink the rest of the soup, and she got up to use the bathroom. It felt odd to walk for some reason. And she returned to find him standing beside the bed, watching her with an anticipation that made her wonder. She was torn between crying and being angry.

"I want to know why you're afraid," she said as he watched her settle on her side of the bed and pulled up the covers.

"A lot of it is residual shock, but it's also concerning me that you're so tired. Do you want anything else to eat?"

"No. Stay with me?"

She fell asleep again as he kissed her forehead.

When she awakened some time later, it was obviously night; the room was dark. Jean-Luc was sleeping next to her, but so was Cordelia, nestled between them. She rolled slightly and bumped into someone -- Amy was sleeping on the edge of the bed behind her.

"Mom?" Amy mumbled.

"It's okay. I just have to use the bathroom."

Amy moved to sit up so she could get up, and then it was a matter of navigating around Yves -- he was sleeping on a pad on the floor next to the bed, and Pierre was on another one at the foot of the bed. Deanna made it into the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the light. She used the toilet and turned to the sink, and caught a look at her reflection that stopped her cold.

Her hair was still in the loose braid, and her face was pale. But she was completely taken aback by her eyes -- red-rimmed, bloodshot, she looked as though she'd been crying for weeks. It occurred to her that she hadn't looked at her reflection the last time she'd come in to urinate.

"I hate convalescence," she whispered to her reflection. Turning, she shut off the light on the way back to bed, to convalesce.


	7. Convalescence, Not Obsolescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't remember Far Afield well... Seven of Nine in this series has never been the canon version, because canon!Seven makes zero sense from the perspective of anyone who treats trauma in humans. So her experiences as narrated by her in this story do not entirely mesh with episodes of Voyager, which I assure you that I have actually watched.
> 
> TNG Season 2 episode The Icarus Factor has to be a precursor to this as well, for reasons you will soon see.
> 
> Ravens in the Storm would be another one for context -- of course, as of this moment it's not finished yet. So this is your spoiler alert. There's some of that plot here too, and it's kind of a -- I guess a bombshell, really. Also, Strings Attached and other stories in the series featuring Riker.
> 
> EJ aka Penny Proctor's story "Whatever It Takes" is canon for the Captain and Counselor Series. If you have access to the old Trekiverse archive it's easy to find her excellent stories, both TNG and VOY. She is not on AO3, much to the misfortune of so many new fans...

The front door opened to reveal Yves Picard. The boy smiled at Will -- he was definitely happier than he'd been at the beginning of the week, when his mother had been unconscious and his father so obviously traumatized by that. "Come on in."

"How are things this morning?"

"Better, I think. Want some coffee?"

Will let the fifteen-year-old seat him in the dining room and fetch him a cup of coffee, and waved off the offer of food. "I had breakfast. Aren't you supposed to be at school today?"

"We're leaving in a minute. Papa's talking to Maman, he'll be out here in a bit." Yves sat down at the end of the table to wait. He didn't seem to be in a hurry.

"I'm glad she's feeling better. Maybe this will be the last day she's off work?"

"Hope so. She doesn't like being off. Maybe we'll go riding weekend after next, after she's better." The horseback riding adventure had been postponed, as Beverly had recommended against it.

Will mulled over that possibility, and thought about John. Then he noticed Yves looking at him with an odd look that reminded him of Deanna. "You're reading me and wondering why I'm frustrated," he guessed. "Your mother used to have that look."

"You were thinking about John. You were feeling this way the other night when everyone was here, and he kept mocking me." That was Yves -- Deanna had spent years keeping things to herself, but clearly things were different, and the next generation of empath weren't conforming to that.

"I had a talk with him later. I hope you don't think I approved of his behavior," Will said quietly. 

Yves shrugged. "I knew you didn't. It's not a big deal."

Will grinned thinking about a house full of empaths -- not the first time it occurred to him to wonder what it was like. Especially for Jean-Luc, who'd always tended to be a private man. "You have any suggestions for a dad trying to help his son get over his attitude?"

"Maybe you should tell him everything will be all right."

"So he thinks everything won't be?"

Yves shrugged, turning as his father entered the room. "Time to go?"

"Yes, you can take the flitter and come home on your own. Get going."

Yves left the table and the dining room. "Guys! Leaving now!"

There was a brief thundering of footfalls and the twins were laughing, and then a door shut. Jean-Luc sat down at the head of the table with his coffee, in his duty uniform and looking much improved -- not tired, not worried. "Thanks for coming, Will."

"It sounds like she's a lot better. Do you really think she needs a babysitter?"

Jean-Luc sipped his coffee, and his eyes moved to the kitchen door as Deanna emerged. She was wearing a long dark pink robe and her hair cascaded down her shoulders. It was a look he hadn't seen her wear for decades; it made him feel very old. She smiled at her husband, then at Will -- subtle differences in her smile for each of them.

"Good morning, Will."

Jean-Luc stood up and leaned to kiss her -- on the cheek. "Don't let her work," he said, turning to go. He took his coffee with him.

After the front door closed, Deanna tucked her hands in her sleeves and sat in the chair that the previous two occupants had left pulled out from the table. "I suppose we could play cards."

He chuckled, and she joined him for a minute. He thought about all the intervening years and everything he'd believed would happened, then the reality.

Deanna kept smiling. "I'm better than I was a few days ago, so I can tell you're thinking about ancient history." She'd had a temporary lack of empathy, something they'd said had happened in the past when she had a brain injury from a similar sort of trauma.

"Guilty as charged. You're feeling better today, I hope."

"Physically, I've been feeling fine right up until I'm exhausted. As for the rest, no one's telling me what happened while I was unconscious, and it's frustrating."

Will pressed his lips together and picked up his mug again. Jean-Luc wanted the nightmares to stop before anyone talked about it with her. "We all want to see you back to being yourself."

She nodded, looking at nothing -- staring at the floor without seeing it. "I know he only wants to see me get better. It doesn't make it easier to be kept in the dark. In a way it's worse, thinking that there must be something so very wrong that he won't tell me."

It was almost enough to break his resolve to do as he'd agreed, to say nothing, to be supportive. This was, Jean-Luc had explained, similar to situations they'd been in before. He wanted her to rest and recover, not be stressed either way. "Beverly doesn't seem to think you're in any danger. Nor does Jean-Luc."

"How are you? How is Bell? The kids?"

He knew that was a distraction for her. "Bell enjoys her position at Starfleet Medical. I'm still weighing what I want to do. The kids are over the virus and John is on probation at school, for his involvement in an incident shortly after he started there. I wish we'd chosen a different psychologist for him. I think the one we have doesn't understand the depth of the issue."

"I'm wondering if you feel it's your fault," she said.

When he looked up from his coffee again, she was watching him with a sober, affectionate expression. "Not entirely, but I do think I could have done more, earlier, before he was old enough to decide we were irrelevant."

"He doesn't think that, I'm sure. But I understand how it would feel that way."

"Your son suggested that I try to reassure John that everything will be all right," he commented. "Do you think he's right?"

Deanna laughed unexpectedly. She hugged herself and gave him one of her joyful smiles that filled her eyes with light -- shaking her head, she leaned back in the chair. "It might be worth a try. It's not helping me, when I can't tell whether people believe it when they say it to me. It would be easier if everyone acted as though they believed it."

"We should pretend as though there is nothing wrong," Will half-asked. 

"Nothing wrong with him. There's something wrong, but he can change his mind about how to approach this any time. It might make it easier if he experienced that reassurance rather than simply had it articulated to him. I know you aren't empaths, but responding to how he feels with empathy consistently can help."

"The psychologist tells us to keep an eye on him. She doesn't say anything about how our attitudes influence him."

"Attitudes and opinions of parents have a great impact on children," Deanna said. "I am sure that part of Jean-Luc's resistance to telling me anything about my condition has to do with how my reaction will affect the children. It's been hell, being here for weeks without him, and when he arrived everything immediately improved -- I'm sure he doesn't want us to go back to stressed."

Will closed his mouth on words he wouldn't say, yet. After a moment he said instead, "I'm sure you're right."

Deanna rolled her eyes and hung her head, an unhappy set to her mouth.

"What do you remember about it now?"

She sat up straighter, and he wondered if she remembered being asked this before. It was usually Jean-Luc who asked it. "About what?"

"Trying to help Pembroke, and then being injured. What do you remember?" He waited for her to say she was tired of people asking about that -- hopefully she would, since it would be progress. She hadn't been remembering discussions from previous waking periods. Beverly had said this was one of the symptoms of brain trauma, that would hopefully resolve quickly.

"I remember getting ready for the procedure. I remember trying to find him, in his own mind, to communicate with him somehow. I remember the pain." She stared at him, frowning. "Why are you asking this again?"

Will laughed and stood up. "I'm getting myself some more coffee. Want anything?"

"I do -- I'm going to take a shower and get dressed."

He poured coffee and plucked couple pieces of fruit from the bowl on the counter, and was finishing the second banana when she returned to the dining room. "It's like I'm going back in time," he exclaimed. She'd put on a bright blue dress and wore her hair back from her face in a style that reminded him of the first few years aboard the _Enterprise_ before she'd started to wear the duty uniform more.

"It takes more than a dress to put me back there." She folded a leg beneath her and sat down again. "I don't feel like Counselor Troi any more."

"I don't feel much like Commander Riker, either," he said, grinning. "Tired Captain Riker with kids, that I'm intimately acquainted with, maybe moving on to Tired Admiral Riker before long."

"Has it really been so long?" Deanna murmured, nodding thoughtfully. 

He couldn't answer. She was smiling and remembering, and looking so much like the younger version of herself he had known so long ago on the 1701-D, and part of him ached to be back there -- it surprised him, in the intensity of the loss he felt. Partly it was losing that younger self -- he'd felt so energized and excited by his job, and the missions they were on together. And there had been times through the years that he had thought about attempting something more than a friendship with her, and backed away again. Each time convinced that it would be better not to, each time wishing, and then on the new  _Enterprise_ things had changed. The ship had been different. She'd gotten the promotion and spent time with Worf before the change -- there had been several aspects to that he'd found unsettling. And then the intermission; temporary assignments, after the destruction of the  _Enterprise_ , and she'd surprised him by not taking any assignment at all but going on leave for the weeks in between. She'd come aboard with her usual serene smile and said little. He'd broken his long resolve to keep things professional between them, some months later, and then that had been the end -- she refused him and nothing was the same after that. So he'd finally promoted, took his own vessel, and now -- he couldn't claim it had all been bad. He had worked hard on his relationships with his friends, his children and his wife. There had been a point when he'd thought Bell might just dissolve the marriage and he couldn't pretend he would not have been relieved by it. But now, two children and years later, he felt as though he'd found some peace. None of it was anything he'd ever anticipated. But some of it was good. 

"Sometimes I stop and think about things," Deanna said at last, after they wandered around in their own thoughts silently for a while. "I remember being so, so afraid, for so long. I kept telling myself not to be. Putting it down and doing my work anyway."

"You never showed it that I remember. Afraid in some of the situations we'd get into, sure."

She grimaced, and shook her head. "I couldn't show it. I was supposed to be ship's counselor. I wasn't always frightened, but at times I sat alone in my quarters thinking about how I was going to work with you and not feel so tense. It was easier as time passed, of course. Later I was able to relax -- we were all good friends."

"Still are?"

"With a few more wrinkles and less patience, yes," she said with a sigh. "I don't know if I have it in me to be a counselor again, though."

"Were you thinking of trying? How is it being a teacher at the Academy?"

"It was one of Jean-Luc's suggestions. He thought a small private practice might be less stressful for me." She looked up at the wall where the large frame hung -- he'd seen it in their quarters aboard the _Enterprise_ , though the currently-displayed image was more recent, the family at Jean-Luc's promotion ceremony. The current iteration of uniform was not as flattering as a couple of the previous versions. That too struck him as telling -- how many uniform versions they had lived through.

"Whatever else happens with career, I'm glad you have the family you've always wanted."

Deanna turned another of her radiant smiles on him. "Thank you, Will."

"I'm still working on mine, but I think we're close." He grinned at the image. "Yves really does look a lot like his dad these days. He's an amazing kid. Perceptive as you are, too."

"Something that can work against me at times, but he does continue to impress us. I think now that we're settling in, we'll start to see him really come into his own."

"How did you know you were done with it?" Will asked. This had been part of the conversation the other night, when everyone was together. Tom had been anything but verbose; he had been the first to retire completely from Starfleet, and it appeared that as close as he and Beverly were to Deanna and Jean-Luc, he hadn't told them much either, which had led to the question. And when he'd turned it back to them, Jean-Luc had answered. 

Deanna tilted her head and seemed to be having an internal conversation. It was an appearance of distance in the eyes that suggested she might be "talking" to Jean-Luc. "Sorry, he wanted to check on me. I knew I was done with it about the twentieth round of cadets coming aboard. I was tired of the ship, and recovering from another mission. I hate sickbay. Now Jean-Luc wants me to stop helping traumatized officers, because being here was supposed to put an end to vicariously traumatizing our family and each other."

"I can't see how you've managed it this long. It seemed as though every time I spoke to one of you, the other was in sickbay." There were times that Will could tell, just from the look on Jean-Luc's face, the weariness and the bleakness, how bad some of her injuries had been.

"I know -- trust me, I know," she murmured. Thinking of it made her glassy-eyed and put wrinkles in her forehead.

The house computer chimed politely. "Incoming message from Mercy Hills school," it said quietly.

"Oh, damn it," she muttered. "Computer, accept transmission."

"This is Erin Morris, the vice principal at Mercy Hills," came a female voice.

"Yes, Mrs. Morris, this is Captain Troi. What can I do for you?"

"I have your daughter in our office, she's quite upset. She keeps saying she wants to talk to you."

Deanna smiled sadly. "All right. Please let her."

At once, Cordelia was breathlessly there. "Maman! I can't hear you!"

What followed was a brief conversation in Betazoid, which universal translators tended to mangle, and then the vice principal was back. "I hope that you resolved the issue?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Morris, just a little insecurity -- I'm home on medical leave and she's worried," Deanna said. "She should be fine."

"Thank you, Maman," Cordelia exclaimed happily. "I'll go back to class."

"Thank you, Captain." The computer beeped once. End transmission.

"Can't hear you?" he asked.

"Because I'm not back to myself, there's a disruption -- I often check on the children throughout the day and I haven't been able to since this happened," she said, waving vaguely at her head. "She doesn't like that she can't contact me when she's anxious. She had some squabble with Pierre and she's used to telling me about it when she's upset."

"I thought kids are supposed to learn to be independent, or at least more independent than that."

"Cordie has a more anxious temperament than the others. And all of them have too many memories of their parents struggling to recover."

Will studied her face and thought about the past again, the times he had felt so differently about her -- imagining he'd be looking at her face daily for the rest of his life. He smiled, and glanced again at the frame on the wall. Currently it showed a picture of Deanna when Amy was an infant; she was seated with the baby in her lap, Yves next to her leaning to smile at his sister.

However the Picard/Troi family had handled it, no one could dispute that the end result showed they were parenting successfully.

"You've done a great job with the kids," he said.

"Thank you, Will. I know that you'll be able to help John through whatever it is he's going through."

"You see the situation as something he's going through," Will echoed.

"Of course. You're all in the situation, going through it together, and you'll find answers together."

She made it sound so obvious. So straightforward. He knew, though, that she was the last person in the galaxy who would say that it was. He had a number of messages from her over the years in which she'd been clearly puzzling her way through some of the more complex situations that a Starfleet officer might find along the way.

"Will?"

He knew she sensed his doubt, his hesitation, his frustration. "I don't agree with everything the psychologist wants us to do. Bell always disagreed with some of the things I thought we should do with the kids. And now I wonder if that isn't the bottom of it all, that there's been inconsistencies in how we've handled John."

Deanna sighed, shaking her head. Smiling apologetically. "We know that consistency and some balanced amount of structure and nurturing and consequences are what children need. You don't know that this is what the problem is, nor is it clear that there aren't multiple reasons for John's behavior. But what I know is that it's going to take your combined effort to solve the problem."

"You're trying very hard not to kick my ass for some reason," he exclaimed with a smirk.

"You're trying very hard to kick your own ass." She flinched when the doorbell went off. At his surprise, she said, "I'm slowly getting it back, but I have very little range at the moment. Apparently not beyond the confines of this room, unless it's Jean-Luc." Deanna stood and went to answer it. When she returned, she was accompanied by Annika Hansen. The young woman had been there each day, usually in the afternoon, since Deanna's return home from Starfleet Medical. Annika smiled at him, but shyly, and looked back to Deanna quickly.  Deanna offered her something to drink but it was declined.

"Are you all right, Annika?" Deanna said as they sat down at the table with him. "You seem upset."

"I came to see if you're feeling better, and if there was anything I could do to help." Annika folded her hands in her lap. She had a series of dresses in different colors, modest but flattering, and today's was teal. When Will had been there yesterday, she'd shown up in a red one. One of the things the former Borg drone had not yet mastered, apparently, was a personal sense of style.

"Yes, I was just thinking this morning about my class - I think you could -- "

"That sounds work-related," Will said, scolding.

Deanna scowled at him. "I'm not that fragile. I'm fine, Will."

Will spread his hands. "Admiral's orders. Also your doctor's."

She kept scowling, sitting back and crossing her arms. "Then maybe I should ask you to go to the bakery and get me some bread, and one of the fresh pies for dessert tonight? I'm informed that we're having multiple people coming for dinner."

"Of course," Annika said at once. "What kind of pie?"

Will had expected her to do as she had once, a long time ago while living aboard the _Enterprise_ when he'd been visiting -- she'd talked about the replicated food being equal to conventionally-prepared food, as he had been preparing breakfast the old fashioned way for everyone. It was clear that she too was benefiting from Deanna's guidance.

"Whatever you would like -- you can probably make the kids happy if it's one that's sweet," Deanna said.

"No doubt they have something chocolate," Annika said. She was smirking -- not something he had seen her do before.

"Yes, I've seen many pastries there with chocolate. I'm sure whatever you choose will be fine."

Will watched her rise and head out on her assigned mission, promising to return shortly, and heard the front door open and close. "She's definitely come a long way from the last time I saw her," he said.

"She has some distance to go yet. I thought raising four children was difficult. Annika was assimilated when she was six or seven, recovered in her early twenties, and the arrested development, the trauma of being a drone followed by the trauma of being removed from the Collective, and then the trauma of being yelled at by a man she thought would be sympathetic -- it's been a slow, gradual progression."

"Jean-Luc yelled at her?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not exactly, but... he wasn't precisely encouraging of her. He had his own adaptation to make." Now she looked sad, and weary. And that led him to think the weariness was more than remembering the past years of dealing with a former Borg.

"Why don't you go rest? You look tired."

To his surprise, she got up. "If you'll handle any other calls that may come?"

After she left, he took one of the padds from the charger in the corner and started to read the Starfleet newsfeed. The picture in the frame shifted and he caught the change in his peripheral vision, and looked up automatically -- it was the wedding picture. He smiled at the thought of the nervous bride to be, and the changes in her since. Then he wondered.

"Computer, display images in the frame in chronological order, with ten second intervals."

Will wondered after the first dozen images, of Deanna usually, whether Jean-Luc had documented his life so well prior to marrying her. Images of her pregnant and happy started to appear. There were occasional pictures of him, one of him working with hand tools on the wooden crib he'd made for Yves. There was a gap and then images of either or both of them with the baby, and one of everyone about the time Will had married Bell. The images started to skip forward and showed Yves getting bigger in leaps and bounds, and then there was Amy -- the picture of everyone together at the time of her birth included Will, Bell and the toddler John, and he asked for the computer to pause there for a minute. When he started it forward again, the images started to bound along again, and Janeway appeared here and there.

He watched faces, more than anything else. There were small clues in them -- of course everyone was smiling in pictures, but there were variations in the eyes, telling the tale of what was going on behind the scenes. He knew some images were from the times Deanna or Jean-Luc would be recovering from a major incident. There was a notable gap in Yves' development that correlated with the period Jean-Luc had been laid low by the K'korll, and Deanna had feared that he would not recover from it. There was another gap later, when Deanna had once and for all handled the K'korll, and spent as long on medical leave as Jean-Luc had; no images other than a few of the kids at school activities.

What struck him more than anything was the sheer number of pictures in the frame. He was looking at one of the couple dressed to the nines and ready to go out, possibly for an anniversary, when the doorbell signaled the return of Annika. "Computer, return the frame to its previous settings. Admit the guest."

It flicked to a random image of Yves at a karate tournament, swinging a bo. Annika came in with two bags. "She is indisposed?"

"She went in for a nap, yes. Need any help?"

"No, thank you." Annika went into the kitchen and he heard the stasis unit open briefly. She spoke softly to the replicator and returned to sit across the table from him, putting a cup of tea in front of her. "Mr. Glendenning was here yesterday -- is he not coming today?"

"Far as I know, he isn't." Which was curious, as Glendenning was mostly retired, running his nursery at his home in Oregon. "So you're going to help Deanna at the Academy?"

"She would like me to help her cadets develop an understanding of the Borg. I do not care to revisit that but it would be helpful to Starfleet, and it would begin to repay her for everything she's done for me."

Her tone was soft, her diction so different than it had been -- meekness, or continued guilt? Will remembered Jean-Luc's transition back to himself from the Collective. He'd had a life as a human; dealing with the guilt of having been part of the entity that had slaughtered so many Starfleet officers at Wolf 359 had still taken a long time. To be a drone from early childhood and having no real experience as a human prior to assimilation must have made this adjustment hell for Annika.

"I understand," he said, without thinking too much about it.

Annika stared at him with an unreadable expression. Stunned, he thought.

"I owe them a lot, as well. I wouldn't be who I am today without them."

She nodded. "I was not fully aware of myself, until they helped me. When Captain Janeway removed me from the Collective, I fought her, threatened her, hated her. Over time I tried to accept that I had to work toward being human again. I did my best to pretend that I was understanding things that made no sense to me -- now, I see that Kes was always trying to be kind. But then -- in my early days on _Voyager_ I was not in control of my emotions, and I did not understand them. I didn't have names for them. I could not get the Doctor to understand -- he seemed to be interpreting my experiences of emotions as symptoms because I wasn't able to describe that experience well. I was so angry at times that I avoided people. I had nightmares about assimilation and could not understand why I was reliving those memories. Now I have an understanding that it was all exactly what was explained to me, symptoms that I might experience. But it was so overwhelming to me that it impeded my ability to understand."

"I can see a difference, from the time that we met -- I can assume that you were different still based on my own experiences, watching Captain Picard's assimilation and then his recovery. That was of course different than yours. I don't know if he has shared that with you?"

"He has shared some. Others have shared their experiences." Annika drank a little more tea, and gazed at the table thoughtfully. "I have been thinking about it often, since my visit to the _Newton_. My experience with Captain Janeway was radically different than all previous ones -- I haven't argued with her, not since I accepted my transition from Borg to human. But I found myself disagreeing with her and -- "

Apparently she'd reached the limit of how much information she would trust him with, and he nodded, accepting it. "No doubt you know all about developmental stages and how human children become adults. The psychologists will tell you that teenagers do that -- become argumentative as they move into adulthood. Sort of a rite of passage, I suppose. Humans also tend to disagree with each other often, generally."

"Deanna has said as much to me. I do not believe that this was the issue I experienced with Captain Janeway. I believe that her feelings toward me have changed, because I have changed, and that she is unable to look at me the same way as before."

"And you were unable to talk it through with her to some conclusion?" It sounded familiar... he grimaced, thinking about the time he'd wasted being upset at his friends and claiming it was him being concerned about their careers. Again, he saw she was staring at him. He shrugged. "Sounds like something that happened to me."

"Did you resolve the issue?" Annika asked.

"Eventually. With some patience, and after I started to see that some of the problem had to do with my flawed perceptions prior to -- well. It's a long story, but suffice it to say, eventually if both parties are willing to keep trying it can be resolved."

"You sound like a counselor," Deanna said, coming into the dining room from the kitchen. She'd obviously been sleeping; her hair was flying away a little, and she was smoothing it down as she walked. "Everything all right?" She sat in the chair at the head of the table again. 

"Of course. Feeling better?"

"Some. I keep having dreams. Not nightmares, but unsettling. Jean-Luc will be home soon. Are you staying for dinner, Will?"

"No, Bell's siblings are coming over tonight. She's hoping we'll be able to ship the boys off with one of them, and we can take a couple of days somewhere together." He thought again about his father -- he hadn't seen the elder Riker in years, but he'd been coming to mind often lately. A message went nowhere, attempts to find him failed. He had decided to never speak to his father again years ago, but the more time passed, the less resolute he felt. 

"You're thinking about something sad," Deanna commented. "Someone?"

"John asked me about my father not so long ago. I told him most of the truth. He doesn't understand why his grandfather isn't interested in meeting him."

Deanna's distressed expression distracted him from further explanation. She didn't say anything for a long minute, then turned to Annika. "Could you give us some privacy?" 

"I will be in the game room -- I told Jean-Pierre that I would examine the console to see if it could be optimized, and show him how," she said, rising to flee the room without looking back.

"What's up?" Will asked.

"Have you been attempting to get in touch with your father?"

He shrugged. "It's been a long time, since the wedding. I told him not to contact me again, afterward. I told him I was done with him. After what he said -- I wanted to punch him. I was done with him."

She nodded slowly, reading him as usual. "You thought about it and wanted the kids to meet him?"

"I know he's an ass," Will said, acknowledging that it was not perhaps a choice that a counselor would expect him to make. Especially one who knew his childhood history. "I know you don't like him."

"It's true that I did not find my brief encounters with him enjoyable," she said, sounding like the cautious counselor of yesteryear more than the forthright first officer she had become. 

Will laughed at that. "Really, Deanna. Prevarication?"

Deanna gave him a look that suggested she was honestly upset, but it wasn't clear why. "When he came aboard the 1701-D, I knew you were angry and upset. I remember what you'd told me before then, and what you told me after he left the ship. I knew, when I spoke with him briefly, that he was closed off emotionally and had been so for a long time. I've had clients with similar presentations. He attempted to distract me with commentary -- he informed me that you and he were very similar, had the same taste in women, had the same hunger for the excitement of the unknown -- yes, you can laugh. He was wrong, in too many ways. It was sad, actually."

Will smirked and shook his head. "Well, he did flirt with Bell, and I doubt he found you unattractive. And I do enjoy exploration."

"Will, think about it for a minute. Had you ever told him about me? Why would he say that to the ship's counselor?"

That was a good question, for which he had no answer. "What are you getting at here?"

Deanna's sad smile wasn't reassuring. "I think your father kept a close watch on you through the years."

"How.... My personal relationships aren't included in 'fleet records, that doesn't make any sense."

"You didn't hear from him again when you turned down the  _Aries,_ until he crashed your wedding. And then, you were inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him attend. You thought he might have changed. You believed him when he told you how he'd heard about the wedding. I knew he was lying but didn't think it mattered."

Will started to frown. "What, he lied? Why would he lie about that?"

A deep inhale, a long exhale, and she folded her hands in her lap, tilting her head slightly. There -- the curl of the lip, that said she didn't like this conversation at all and didn't really want to have it. "I did not know about the implants until I met Tom. I didn't know what it was, before."

Will hung there, breathless, mouth open, and tried to stop wanting to leap up and throw things. He forced a deep breath of his own. He knew what she meant, remembered talk of implants. "You are saying that he was Section 31."

"He abandoned you when you were fifteen years old. When you told me that, I was angry on your behalf -- any father that would simply walk away from his child that way.... When I saw him at your wedding I finally understood that there might have been a reason. Just as there was a reason for Tom's father deserting his family, when Tom was a child. A bad reason, but one that he likely believed was necessary."

"So," Will began, but lost the words. Scrubbing at his beard with his fingertips, he did his best to process this revelation. "You didn't tell me."

"I did not. I thought since you had just been married and told him to never bother you again, I would wait for a better time to -- and then I didn't want to, Will. I couldn't figure out how to approach it. I'm sorry."

He had already had the awakening to the fact that life for her since she'd been Jean-Luc's first officer had not been easy. He was about to let her off the hook, but noticed that she wasn't able to look at him; she was staring at the frame, at a picture of Amy and the twins racing down a beach with Fidele, and looking like she'd been eating something sour.

"Why didn't you want to? What else haven't you told me?"

She raised her head, actually tipped it back as if interested in the ceiling. Closed her eyes. "Oh, Will...."

"You can tell me," he said quietly. "I understand. I haven't been easy to deal with, I'm not going to go back to that again, you can tell me anything."

She looked directly at him again, and now he was really concerned -- he hadn't seen pathos in her dark eyes like this in a long time. "I'm afraid that telling you now -- I was afraid to tell you before. I kept thinking that it didn't matter any longer. It's been nearly fifteen years."

"Just tell me," he exclaimed, too anxious to be calm now.

"I think your father is dead."

"They would have notified me, wouldn't they?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure that Starfleet even knows. He was on a starbase -- it was a Section 31 installation, a cloaked one. It was destroyed."

"How do you know about this? Did Tom tell you?"

She leaned forward and seemed to be in pain. And it occurred to him, like a rock to the back of the head, that this was a stupid thing to do right now. But she went on, and made him forget that as suddenly as he'd thought it. "I helped Tom destroy the starbase in an attempt to neutralize Section 31. Your father was on it. I tried to talk him into helping us, into joining us in the effort to stop the Section."

"Wait -- wait -- " He stood up, without intending to -- held the sides of his head, feeling too overwhelmed to think at this point. It took a minute to re-orient himself. "You and Tom destroyed a starbase with him on it."

"They were threatening me. I couldn't sleep. The Section can terrorize you," she said wearily. "They sent someone into our bedroom to whisper in my ear. They wanted to recruit me. All I wanted was to be an officer and take care of my baby. Tom told me he would do something about it. I didn't take him very seriously because it felt so hopeless. And then he contacted me...."

"Stop, Deanna. Stop -- you shouldn't be doing this," he exclaimed. He should have stopped before this point, but he couldn't see how he could have known where it would go -- regardless, she was more and more upset and he didn't see this ending well. 

She was crying now, her hands over her eyes. "I haven't thought about this in so long... but I can't...."

The sound of the front door startled both of them. Deanna looked up at him with wide eyes, stood up, and stepped around the chair as Jean-Luc arrived. He stopped in the door and glared at both of them.

"I'm not even really sure how we ended up where the conversation went," Will said, lacing his fingers and balancing them on his head. "I'm sorry. It spun out of control."

It had never been made clear to him, just how the very human Jean-Luc Picard managed to know so much about what was going on with Deanna, but he would react to things that took place while he was out of the room in a way very similar to Deanna's occasional arrivals to address something disturbing. His old friend lost some of the ire, as Deanna gave him a pleading look -- something telepathic had clearly passed between them.

"Maybe it would help if you gave me this kind of information telepathically too," Will said.

It made her smile, unexpectedly. "I blocked out the children, as I have been doing so they don't sense my dreams when I'm napping during the day. But I didn't think about you, before I started to talk about it. I'm sorry, Jean. And I'm sorry, Will, that I haven't told you any of this before now. I didn't want to...."

"Maybe it's better that you did wait. Because it's all so far in the past. And I might have been more upset before I started counseling, and not understanding what it's been like for you." 

She came to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her and let go after a moment, taking a step back. Jean-Luc crossed his arms and watched her expectantly.

"I was telling him about Section 31, and his father."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. "There are things you've never told  _me_ about, you know. When you came back from that mission with Tom all you wanted to do was hold Yves."

"You didn't need to know. I didn't want to say. But as he says, it's in the past." Her smile took on a different quality, as she gazed at her husband. "The uniform does look a bit tight. Do you need help getting it off?"

Instead of doing as Captain Picard of yore might, run away in befuddled embarrassment, Jean-Luc sighed and went toward the kitchen. "Dee."

"I know, I'll sit down and relax until you get back," Deanna said.

When they were both seated again, Will smirked at her. "You may want to reassure him that I in no way accused you of being a cute couple. Even if I thought so."

She laughed with him, and they were still chuckling when Jean-Luc returned in a sweater. It was a uniform dark blue, and nondescript as possible. Jean-Luc noticed his gaze and stared back at him. Will shrugged. "That's the kind of sweater John calls a 'dad sweater.' I have a dark brown that he finds quite amusing."

"Is there anything that needs doing at the moment, or can I join you for a cup of tea," Jean-Luc asked, predictably ignoring the commentary on his wardrobe.

"You can get us both tea. I'll go get Annika before she upgrades the house computer with bioneural circuitry," Deanna said, heading off toward the kids' side of the house.


	8. Friends and Family

Tom grinned at his lovely lady and watched her send their flitter down to stop in front of the Picard home. The yard was looking a bit overgrown. If they still needed someone there to mind the lady of the house and keep her in recovery mode, he might just volunteer tomorrow and get those bushes trimmed back. Deadheading the roses and lopping some of the branches out of the pine tree were a priority, he thought.

"It looks like Will is here," Beverly commented as Marcus Riker bolted out of the side yard, across the front yard, leaped the short hedge and rounded the corner of the house. Fidele and Pierre were in hot pursuit. The dog was loping easily but Pierre was giving it his all. They vanished after the youngest Riker in no time.

"I hope his bride made it too. I like Bell."

Beverly gave him her scolding look, setting mild stun, and got out of the vehicle. Tom exited with the big bunch of varicolored roses from the nursery in hand. At the front door they were greeted by Yves -- the kid grinned and returned Bev's embrace, accepted a shoulder slap from Tom, and guided them out into the courtyard in the center of the house, where a long table had been set up. Taking advantage of the good weather for a dinner on the patio. Yves returned to the house with the roses.

Will and Bell were seated across from Deanna. There were still tired lines around her eyes, but she was happy to see them and rose to come hug each in turn. "How is your sister?"

"Oh, Chloe's a trooper -- she's bouncing back nicely. She'll be out teaching kids to waltz again in no time. How are you, sweet cheeks?"

Deanna actually narrowed her eyes at that one. Tom enjoyed throwing the endless variety of nicknames that humanity had to offer at her just to provoke. "Would you care for something to drink? Since Amy and her father are working on dinner, I've been assigned to beverages."

"Tom can get his own drink," Beverly said. "My tricorder and I would like to see you in the bedroom."

Deanna followed her into the house without argument. Tom pulled out a chair, straddled it and dropped into it, folding his arms on the edge of the table. "How are you, Bella?"

Bell smiled easily, and seemed generally happy these days. She wore her long blond hair down today, and the bright yellow dress worked well for her tan and somehow didn't fight with her hair. And Tom almost rolled his eyes at the thought -- years of watching Beverly hunt down clothing in colors that worked for her hair and skin tone had turned him into an amateur fashionista.

"I'm waiting for another dance lesson," Bell said. Evidently seeing her multiple times during Deanna's convalescence had been enough contact for her to feel comfortable enough to tease him.

"We'll throw a party when Dee returns to duty, and I'll teach you to jitterbug."

"Jitter-what?" Will asked.

"The lack of education they give you at the Academy," Tom scoffed. He glanced at Amy, coming in with a basket of rolls. "Aha, the feast begins."

"Captain Hyperbole to the rescue," Amy said, plopping the basket in a bare spot on the white tablecloth.

"All we need is -- there you are," Tom exclaimed. Jean-Luc arrived with a couple of covered dishes. "Admiral Straight Man."

"If you insist upon showing up inebriated, I have to insist that you bring some of whatever it was to share," Jean-Luc said. His burden went at the other end of the table, filling the space between place settings there, and he turned -- Amy held up a hand.

"I'll get them, Papa. No need to bellow."

"Then tell them to bring the rest with them," he instructed with a wave. Pulling out the chair at the head of the table, he reached for the water pitcher, sat down, and poured himself a glass of water.

"If you're going to have five kids, might as well make some of them telepathic to simplify everything," Tom commented. 

Jean-Luc shot him a scathing look. "Five?"

"Well, the twins, the princess, her lady in waiting," Tom began, gesturing at Amy. "You did tell everyone they could bring a friend, right? So the mysterious Neema has to be around somewhere."

Amy smirked, looking more like her mother than usual despite the red hair. "She's playing a game with Cordie."

"You might go tell them to come to the table, if telepathy isn't working," Jean-Luc said. It wasn't an order, but Amy nodded and went inside the house.

"Amy is so much older than I remember," Bell said, looking tired. "It's been too long."

Tom looked at the door, where Deanna and Beverly were returning to the courtyard. Deanna wore a brilliant ruby dress, not the short and tight one he formerly teased her about, but something that looked almost historic, royal, with long sleeves and a long skirt. Beverly still wore her uniform, the black sheath as she called it. She noticed him watching her as she came to sit in the chair to his left, smiled -- he reached up to push her hair back from her face, smoothing it behind her ear, and she twinkled at him nicely. His retirement had been the best thing for them. She was still working happily at what she loved to do, came home after and relaxed with him, unlike the ship where they were constantly waiting for red alerts.

"Everything okay, sweet cheeks?" he said, turning to look at Deanna, who moved around Bell and Will to sit on Jean-Luc's right hand.

"Obviously," Deanna replied. "I'll kick your ass tomorrow."

He laughed at it, while Beverly rolled her eyes. Will and Bell looked confused. "She's told me this since she moved in here. Stupid 'in' jokes are the way to fit into this crowd."

"Doctor," Jean-Luc said, absolutely serious.

"She's progressing well -- if it continues she'll return to work on Monday," Beverly said. "There are still signs of some neural issues that we've discussed before, but it's diminishing each time I check. Tomorrow I want to see you at my office so I can use something more than a tricorder to look at it more closely."

Tom watched the brief look that passed between Deanna and her husband -- he wondered if the two would be asking them to babysit this weekend. The return of the herd of kids kept him from commenting, however. Amy led the line in to take seats around the long table, her siblings, her friend and the two Riker boys calmly joining the adults for the meal. It was illuminating, watching the boys sit next to their parents -- Marcus, the smaller version of his older brother with the blond hair and Will's blue eyes, glanced up at John, who was disgruntled and unhappy as usual. But he concealed it somewhat with the narrowed eyes and his practiced nonchalance.

The Picard kids, on the other hand, were open books. Cordelia lit up at the sight of Tom and Beverly and dove in for hugs. Pierre leaned on Tom for a few seconds and asked about maybe coming to see them this weekend. Amy was all about her friend, chatting with the dark-haired, lovely girl who was obviously of Indian descent about something going on at school. Yves was the end of the column and walking with an ease that suggested he felt everything was finally better. That more than Beverly's scans suggested his mother was doing well. Tom had seen the strain of Deanna's injuries on all their faces very plainly, when he'd showed up to support the family.

Dinner was nothing out of the ordinary; some replicated side dishes and some bread from Deanna's favorite bakery, and a few things they had sent Yves to get from another local store. Tom ate and let the conversations flow around him, content to be there with the family he had chosen.

He watched faces while people talked about the things the kids were up to, how school was going, and noticed that John spoke only when spoken to and had a smirk when one of the younger children was being enthusiastic about something. Tom finally turned to Yves, sitting at his right, and nudged the boy with his elbow.

"What," Yves said with a grin.

"Pierre wants to come help me plant roses this weekend. What are you up to?"

Yves kept grinning, but there was an awareness in his eyes that said he could sense Tom was up to something. "Homework. Mal wants to go to some game, but I'm not really into the martial arts."

"I have some painting to do," Beverly said at once. "We're working on the house. If you're not interested in planting roses, that is."

"I can help you paint," Yves said. His parents were watching him, both of them pleased and unsurprised. John was actually sneering, Tom noticed, and the boy caught him looking and hid it quickly, bowing his head and reaching for his glass.

"Great. One less ugly green wall," Tom exclaimed.

"I'll help too," Cordelia blurted, sliding out of her chair at the far end of the table and darting around to lean on Beverly's shoulder.

"Thanks for having so many kids, it's making my retirement much easier," Tom said to Jean-Luc. He exchanged a smirk with him, and glanced at John again. "You want to come with us? Plant some roses and make the world a more flowery place?"

John stared at him as if he'd suggested trying to fly. "I don't know how to plant roses."

Tom gestured at Cordelia. "She can teach you. You guys remember how it goes?"

Cordie leaped back from the table, Pierre sprang out of his chair, and the two started to sing and dance, miming digging holes and sticking rose bushes in them, chanting about adding water, using the shovel. They finished the short ditty and took a bow, to some polite clapping from their laughing siblings. It was a routine he'd come up with on the fly just to be silly and fun when Cordelia had griped about the work. John watched the twins with something approaching horror. When he noticed Tom watching him, John collected himself, glanced at his parents, and shrugged.

"Okay." Not the most enthusiastic assent ever, but it would do.

Tom grinned. "Great! You can bring your brother. We'll make him do the hard stuff."

"If you're all done with your dinner, there's a cake for dessert," Deanna said. Predictably it energized the children and prompted their exodus to the kitchen. Yves went along and they heard him suggest to Amy that she cut the cake, as the twins began to squabble with Marcus. Neema seemed to be fitting in well; her voice was also audible in the mix.

"Thanks, Tom. We should plan something this weekend, if all the kids are going to Tom's," Bell said. "If you're up to it, Dee. Maybe we could find something low key?"

"A beach visit wouldn't be too taxing," Beverly said. "Or perhaps some shopping? I intend to be covered in paint, but I know Dee likes some of the clothiers down at the pier."

"We'll see," Jean-Luc said.

When the squabbling they could hear distantly didn't stop, Deanna rose and went for the door, disappearing into the house. Tom took the opportunity to really look at Jean-Luc. Now that his better half was out of range, he looked pretty damn tired.

"How are you doing?"

It startled him from gazing down at his empty plate. Jean-Luc sighed heavily. "I'm beginning to think I should have followed your lead. I'm surprised I haven't been contacted since I got home."

"How are things going? I know better than to ask what's going on, but can you give us an idea of progress?" Bell asked.

"It's hard to say. How is Pembroke?" he asked, looking to Beverly.

She shook her head, her lips thinning. She didn't like it when a patient resisted her efforts to cure them.

Tom glanced around at the faces of his friends -- no one looked happy. He smiled as he turned back to Jean-Luc. "So you'll take Dee and Bell down to the pier and let them run free in the racks while you sit on a bench fending off seagulls, buy them dinner, and I'll bring her some roses when we drop off the kids at the end of the day."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Bell said, leaning toward her husband. "I hope I don't get called in. I'm not scheduled."

Yves returned, a couple of plates in hand, and placed one in front of Tom, then took the other to his father. "It's chocolate, as if we didn't know it would be."

"Thank you." Jean-Luc watched his son head back to the kitchen. "I think I might be a little proud of him."

Tom laughed at that. He had been one of the first called, when Deanna had been injured -- he'd seen Yves and the younger kids come out of school with awareness in their eyes that something was wrong, when he'd picked them up for Jean-Luc and taken them to Starfleet Medical, where Yves had comforted his younger siblings and then again after their father came out to the waiting room to tell them what he knew. Tom had brought them home, and stayed over -- no one really slept, and not for lack of trying. Jean-Luc likely hadn't slept in two days, by the time Deanna woke up, and then Tom had kept coming over until it was obvious that everyone was better. Yves had been the one doing most of the chores around the house, until the kids went back to school. Then he became the one taking his siblings to school. Impressive for a fifteen year old. Tom thought about his own misguided youth and almost snorted at the difference.

"He's a good kid," Will said, watching John and Marcus come back with pieces of cake. Marcus was already stuffing bites of his in his mouth and getting icing on his face.

"I'm hoping the trend of doing all the housework without being asked continues. I don't think I've thought about a thing other than work and whether she's doing better. But the house is still clean."

Unexpectedly, John chose that to respond to, after being quiet for most of the evening. "Yeah, Yves is a real helpful guy."

Tom exchanged a look with Will, whose eyes were wide at the comment. Tom opted to deflect and ignore. "Maybe I'll teach the kids how to put together greenhouses. I'm setting one up to grow some other kinds of flowers. Lilies, maybe some offworld species." He paused. "You have any suggestions what else I should put in, John?"

Bell and Will both looked at their older son, as he sat on Will's right eating cake. John blinked at Tom. "What?"

"I was thinking of planting some different flowers. What do you think I should pick?"

While John sat there in surprise, Deanna returned, Yves at her side, both carrying a couple of slices of cake on plates. They gave Will and Bell each a piece and returned to their seats, on either side of Jean-Luc. Yves started to eat his, glancing around curiously.

"What do you think I should plant in the new greenhouse?" Tom asked him.

"Those white lilies Beverly likes," Yves said at once. "And orchids. Maman likes them."

"That sounds good to me," Tom said, turning to share a grin with Beverly.

John rolled his eyes.

"I gave you a chance," Tom said, staring straight across at the boy. "You could have picked something your mom likes. Something you think your twenty girlfriends like, even."

John screwed up his face, obviously angry. But he shrugged and went back to eating cake.

Will just looked tired. He'd probably already talked himself hoarse, or possibly he would be addressing it at home.

Bell commented on the planned shopping trip, and though Dee and Beverly participated no one was very enthusiastic. Finally Will called it -- after the cake was done, the Riker family departed, giving hugs all around. Except John, who stood back and fidgeted, then followed his family out.

"I tried to be friendly," Yves said, turning to his father. "He's not budging."

"It's past everyone's bedtime. Tell the others they have fifteen minutes -- I'll be coming around to say good night, it's their choice as to whether that's a pleasant encounter or not." Jean-Luc watched his oldest head off to follow orders. When he'd disappeared into the house, Jean-Luc's head swiveled right, and Deanna rose to her feet.

"We'll see you tomorrow," Beverly said, following suit. Tom came around the table with her and gave their friend a hug. Held on to her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake.

"I was remembering our adventures," Deanna said quietly. "I finally told Will about his father."

"He doesn't seem too cut up about it," Tom said. "You know... that was an amazing mission." He stopped short of going into any detail, at the tired look on her face. "Do you need me to come by tomorrow? I have some things to get done but I can do it later in the day."

"Annika will be here," Jean-Luc said. "But if you wouldn't mind...."

Beverly was looking at him, waiting for him to do what he usually did when the ex-Borg was mentioned. He patted Deanna on the arm, and gave Jean-Luc a nod. "I'll be here. Good night."

In the flitter, outside, as Beverly fired it up, he sighed loudly and slouched in the passenger's seat. "Tom?" she asked, as she tapped the preset for home.

"They came back here to Earth, where it's safer, and this."

Beverly gave him a bleak look that was an echo of her expression the day Deanna had been injured while trying to help Pembroke. "I hope she doesn't try that procedure again."

"I hope she lets him convince her not to, it's hard to watch her recover. How the hell did they do this for so long? How many recovery periods did they go through, one after the other, taking turns?"

Beverly was shaking her head. "You know how stubborn they are. I suspect the kids are the only reason they stopped."

"The reason they stayed in space, until the K'korll were gone. Think I'll try to talk to her about it tomorrow."

"I hope he tells her the rest of the story," Beverly said quietly.

Tom sighed, and quietly hoped that he wouldn't.


	9. The Past and the Present

"Papa?"

Jean-Luc sat up, letting his hands drop to the table on either side of his plate. He'd been thinking about the past week, attempting to process it all. "Yves?"

Yves dropped into the chair opposite, and smiled -- there were too many of those sad smiles around these days. "We're about to leave for school. Is everything okay?"

He had to be talking about his mother. Deanna hadn't awakened yet -- she'd had difficulty sleeping last night. "She's fine. Neither one of us slept very well, that's all. What about you, how are you doing?"

"It's better, but -- I'm having trouble in school, focusing on the work. The L'norim kids are noticing and asking what's going on. I'm still not really that hungry, neither are Amy or the twins." Yves' eyes went to the half-eaten breakfast on his father's plate. "Are you sure I can't help? Instead of going to school? My teacher said that she would give me all the work to do at home. She said she can tell I'm not really there this week."

He knew what Deanna would say, but it was Friday, and he could tell that this endless week had taken its toll on everyone. "Are the others having the same difficulties?"

Yves' shoulders sagged visibly. "They contact me telepathically often. We can't reach Maman all the way from school. They're just as worried as I am. Especially since she's not remembering things."

Another deep sigh. He sat back in the chair, and shook his head. "Go tell them you're all staying home. If you would drop Neema and the L'norim off at the school?"

"Okay." Yves grinned and hustled out of the dining room, calling his siblings' names.

Jean-Luc gave up on what was left of his food. While he dropped it in to recycle it, he caught the flicker of awareness that signaled Deanna waking up. He poured a cup of coffee and went down the hall to their bedroom. She watched him through swollen eyelids when he put the coffee on the night stand and sat on the edge of the bed. Her hair was a mess, and she seemed groggy. 

"Good morning," he said with a smile. "I told Bettencourt I would be at home today, if she needs anything. She sends her best wishes."

"Are you going to tell me today?" she mumbled, rolling from her side onto her back. She shoved herself up against the headboard and he leaned to put another pillow behind her. It was a question she asked in the morning, and he had been deferring. 

"I'd like to. If you are ready for that. How are you feeling?"

Deanna sipped coffee, and as he spoke she came awake a little more and set aside the mug. "I feel fine. Still waking up, but fine."

"Do you remember what we talked about last night?"

She frowned a little, and he almost expected her to not remember, again. But she said, "Which time?"

"Any of them." 

"When we went to bed, there was the conversation about John, and Will. When I woke up a few hours later you woke too and asked if I had a nightmare, and we determined that you'd had a bad dream, not me. And a few hours after that I woke up when you did, because you went to the bathroom and I wasn't sleeping very well. You talked a little about your concerns about not hearing anything from Bettencourt or the ships you deployed to handle whatever it is you're managing on the sector you haven't identified to me."

He exhaled slowly, trying not to be obvious about it. "Do you remember what happened the day you went in to help Pembroke?"

She gave it some thought. Started to speak, then thought about it some more. "I spoke to Beverly, about his condition. We examined his brain activity. We prepared. She put a cortical monitor on me. I -- " She took another moment. "When I touched his mind there was a recoil, of something. I sensed something familiar. I tried to withdraw. It trapped me, somehow. I tried to -- there are no words."

He understood -- there were things about telepathy that words failed to describe. "And then?"

Deanna met his gaze, and he wondered if she would lose the train of thought, again. Forget again, and lose the memory of the last few moments of conversation. But she nodded slowly. "Pain. I lost consciousness. Then I awakened in the room, with you."

"Deanna, I've explained this to you many times, and stopped trying because it seemed to make you forget again -- you've been having difficulties with memory loss."

Enlightenment -- she let the news settle in, open-mouthed and dismayed. And frowned at last. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I know how frustrating that must have been for you."

"Papa?" came Yves' call from the kitchen.

"Coming," he responded. Turning back to her, he touched her hair. "You should come out for breakfast when you're ready. The kids are staying home today."

"And Tom's here," she said with a fond smile.

"I'll go see about a scone for you -- take your time." Dropping a kiss on her lips, he turned and went to greet Tom.

"You staying home today, then?" Tom asked, as they gripped hands. Yves had already gone back to his room, probably working on his assignments. The generator that blocked everyone's empathy for the night had gone off an hour ago. 

"I'll try. Might be called in, though I hope to do anything remotely that needs doing. I'll spend some time in my home office today. You're welcome to stay, I think she'll be up to talking a little more. Coffee?"

"I could use another cup. Yves said you're letting the kids stay home. Sounds like a good idea, if she's better they'll feel better."

Jean-Luc thought that everyone would feel better, and looked forward to it.

They were setting out some food when Deanna made her appearance, dressed in one of her around-the-house dresses, a loose green one. She hesitated in the door between the kitchen and the dining room, and they turned their heads to look at her.

"You feeling better, ducks?" Tom said, grinning.

"Yes, I am -- that's a new one. In what Terran subculture does one call people waterfowl?"

"I would suppose from available evidence that it might be the same one that called his child 'pigeon' throughout her childhood," Jean-Luc said.

Deanna wandered over to sit across from Tom, picking up one of the scones from the plate. "Are you going to tell me the rest now?"

He chuckled, as the twins arrived and went to kiss their mother in greeting. "Maman, can we play a game?"

"You should be doing your school work first," Jean-Luc put in. "It's still a school day. Go sit out on the patio and when you're done we'll see."

Pierre made a face, but they went without a fuss, after Cordelia gave him a kiss on the cheek. Jean-Luc turned to Deanna with raised eyebrow. "They're being exceptionally well behaved lately. Maybe growing out of their squabbling at last?"

Deanna was quite amused by this observation. "I suspect that it has more to do with the fact that they aren't sensing any interest in intimacy. You've been preoccupied or you might have figured out the pattern before now."

Tom started to laugh, and after the initial burst of ire, Jean-Luc did too -- the little monsters were just that devious. Deanna nibbled her scone and sipped coffee from the mug she'd brought out with her. Jean-Luc jumped to his feet and went to the patio door, swinging it wide and making it to the table in four strides. The twins froze in their chairs, holding their padds in front of them, staring up at him wide-eyed. 

He put his hands on the table edge and leaned in close. "The next time I kiss your mother, the appropriate response is turning on the generator. Not sounding like you're killing each other."

Both twins grinned merrily at him. Pierre shrugged dramatically. "You don't just kiss her," Cordelia said with a puckish little grin. 

"Do I need to make my point a little more clearly?"

"No, Papa!" they chorused. Cordie held up her padd over her face, and Pierre did a passable imitation of a turtle trying to hide in its shell. 

"I expect this will be the last time I have to bring this up?"

"Yes, Papa," Pierre said. Cordelia peered over the padd at him with big black eyes pleading for clemency. 

"Good. Finish your work. We'll hopefully be able to go to the park when everyone's done."

He turned to head inside. As he shut the door behind him he heard Cordie's giggle. "That was the kindest scold I've ever heard," Tom said. 

"They know better than to push him to the point of shouting," Deanna commented. She still had more than half the scone on her plate. When she caught him looking at it, she rolled her eyes. "I'll eat more when I'm hungry. I'm afraid I've gotten off schedule."

"Do you remember dinner last night?" Jean-Luc asked. Tom sat forward a little at the question.

Deanna studied them with a wrinkle in her brow. "I do. Tom was impatient with John."

Tom rolled his eyes. "That kid needs to be taught how to let things go and own up to his mistakes. He's still blaming his parents for things. Arrogant little jerk. Reminds me of me, at that age."

"And you're signing up to help him with that," Jean-Luc said with a mercenary grin. "Sure you want him near your greenhouse?"

"Hey, the rest of the kids want to plant flowers for their mom - I'll pick something Bell will like on his behalf. She sounds like she's at the end of her rope with the kid."

"Sucker for a pretty face," Deanna said, as she put down her coffee and raised her head -- Amy and Yves came in seconds later. Amy was wearing one of her jade outfits, this one a pantsuit; she was all about style these days. Yves grinned and came to hug his mother, standing back so Amy could do the same.

"She's remembering now," Jean-Luc commented. The kids had been hurt when Deanna couldn't remember from day to day things they had told her. Yves had been bearing the brunt of comforting and reassuring his siblings while Jean-Luc was at work, and spending the rest of his time worrying.

"That's great," Yves exclaimed. "So you'll be back to normal soon."

Deanna glanced from one happy grin to the next. "Have I really been that forgetful?"

"Maman, I kept telling you the same thing again and again," Amy said. "I'm so glad you're better! Can you help me with my history essay?"

"You should go finish your work, I told the twins we would all go to the park if your mother is feeling up to walking," Jean-Luc said. "The sooner you finish the sooner we go."

That propelled both of them back to their rooms, to get it all done. When their footfalls ceased, Deanna let her face fall. "So it wasn't that no one was telling me anything. I just didn't remember it."

Tom gave her a sympathetic smile. "But you're better now. So you will remember me when I tell you that?"

"Tom," Jean-Luc chided. Teasing at this juncture wasn't called for.

"So since you're home today, I'll go out and clean up the front yard, and make myself useful until lunch time?" Tom ran his fingers through his graying hair.

"Thank you," Deanna said warmly. "I do remember you being here nearly every day since this happened. I appreciate your help, Tom."

He shrugged, not unlike Pierre in that shy, nervous gesture, and jumped up to head for the front door. Jean-Luc watched him go, then reached for his cold coffee. "The rest of it," he said softly.

"This is one of those things, isn't it?" she murmured. "Do you want to share it with me?"

"Are you feeling that much better, that your telepathy is returning? Are you sure you want to?"

She nodded. "Please."

So he looked in her eyes, and relaxed. The familiar sensations of meeting mind to mind were more than welcome; since he'd finally come home, she had spent most of the day connected with him, and the sudden brain injury she'd incurred had felt like a dagger to the head. He'd missed her, on a molecular level.

She laughed a little at that thought, and then requested the information. He replayed the memory of arriving at Starfleet Medical, from running in with Will Riker on his heels, to leaving Will in the waiting area and being escorted back to the room where they had attempted the procedure to help Captain Pembroke.

She was shocked -- he knew she would be, had withheld this because it would be hard to bear. He remembered the sight of Deanna apparently in the throes of a seizure, with six medical personnel attempting to work on both officers. Pembroke was limp and two of the doctors were implementing measures to revive him. On the biobed closer to the door, Deanna was being held down by two nurses and Beverly was applying a hypospray and shouting an order over the screaming. The drug had no immediate effect -- Deanna screamed again, clawed at her own face, eyes wide open and unseeing. Beverly noticed Jean-Luc and gestured -- move away, to the nurse on the right side of the biobed, and then come here, to Jean-Luc.

He had moved forward and attempted to make contact, but she didn't respond or give any indication she knew he was there. Her body contorted again after a brief lapse and he had to grab her shoulders to keep her from writhing off the side to the floor. Another injection, another few minutes of seizing -- he had seen blood on her lip where she'd bitten it, and several of her nails had broken where she'd been ripping at her uniform or the edge of the table.

And then she settled. Blinked. He'd thought it was over, but then she grinned maniacally and met his eyes and hissed.

Beverly had given her a sedative and exchanged a wild-eyed look of shock with Jean-Luc, and then gone into repair mode, to run scans and try to understand what had happened to her.

Jean-Luc came out of the memory to watch Deanna cry silently. As sometimes happened when they were so much in their minds, he'd lost track of his surroundings for a moment -- he noticed the children had all arrived and were standing around his chair, watching their mother cry. Jean-Luc reached out without a thought and gathered the twins to him, to comfort them. 

"Maman?" Amy asked, her voice breaking. 

Deanna was out of her chair at once to hug the older children and reassure them. It took a minute. "I'm sorry," she said at last. 

"I should have started the generator," Jean-Luc said. "So I'll remember this, the next time we start to talk about disturbing memories of the past. We're all right."

Yves stepped away from Deanna again, and shuffled a little away from her. "Should I turn it on now? I'm almost done with my geometry, by the way."

"So am I," Cordelia chirped, leaning on Jean-Luc's shoulder. He turned his head to look her in the eye from close range.

"You don't have a geometry class."

Cordie danced a few steps and stood in front of him, leaning on his knee, giggling. "I mean I'm almost done with my homework."

"Then go finish it. Yes, turn on the generator, Yves. Thank you."

She skipped away, Pierre went along sedately, and Yves headed back to his room by way of the patio, where the small enclosure containing the generator that gave off the dampening field that allowed the empaths in the house with less practice in shielding their thoughts and feelings some privacy. Amy gave her father a fleeting smile and went along.

"They've been afraid all week," Jean-Luc said.

"So have you." Deanna sighed, but instead of sad, she thought for a bit, and he thought he could almost hear her thinking -- it was not the same reaction as she'd been exhibiting. It was as though her mind had stopped working for a while, and now had started again. Counselor Troi had told him long ago that this happened with trauma, that in humans the overwhelming traumatic reaction would actually shut down parts of the brain. Beverly's explanation for what was going on included terminology specific to Betazoids, since Deanna's brain had elements of both human and Betazoid brain structure, not that he remembered all the terms due to his own trauma reaction to what had happened to Deanna. Being fully informed about his wife's diagnosis had been traumatic all by itself. Knowing that the usual prognosis for such injuries wasn't good, and that Beverly would never have sent her home at all if not for the fact that the bond would help her healing and it was impossible to expect her to be separated from her traumatized children for long, had shaken him to the core. The more Deanna recovered, the harder it had been to hide that piece and the associated anxiety. 

And now she knew, because they were still connected and he thought about it, that this had all been going through his thoughts repeatedly when she was asleep and it was safe for him to process it all without retraumatizing her or the children.

Her eyes held all the woe this caused her, that she had been the root of such incredible stress on their family. Just when everyone had been settling in and doing so much better. They had been so happy, for a few days.

"We'll get it back," he said, reaching out with both hands.

Deanna came to him, carefully joining him, sliding into his lap and wrapping herself around him. They held each other for a few minutes. Then her thoughts started to turn to other things.

"The generator is on," he mumbled as she slid off to stand, and he stood as well.

"It is indeed."

"There's a lock on the door now," he said. "And the twins have fair warning that I'll take no prisoners."

"Come on, lover boy," she said, taking his hand to lead him off to test the setting they'd been using on the generator.


	10. Admirals and Assholes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be gone for a week, I'll probably post again in two...

"This is my wife," Jean-Luc said, smiling proudly. "Captain Deanna Troi."

Soriah Bettencourt surprised both of them by smiling ever-so-slightly and leaning forward a few millimeters -- almost bowing. "A pleasure to meet you, Captain."

Deanna had her own version of the subdued smile. She'd put on a uniform and come in with him -- it was Saturday and the kids were all at Tom's working on his greenhouse, the painting project Beverly was leading, or possibly just running around in the yard blowing bubbles. It was nice to be able to sense them having fun, again. With the return of most of her abilities came the reassurance the kids had needed to know everything was almost normal again.

"Likewise, Admiral. I hope you don't mind my coming along -- we're stopping at my office at the Academy after he's done here." Deanna glanced at her husband. He was still smiling, and clearly liked his supervisor more than he'd expected to.

"Not at all. You may wait here -- this should not take long," Bettencourt said, turning to go into her office. Jean-Luc gave Deanna a look and followed his superior officer. They were making a subspace call to some of the starship captains in the far reaches of the Federation, to check status and issue more orders.

She sat down in the row of seats along the wall in the outer office, and glanced around -- the large well-appointed offices at Command were filled with gleaming surfaces and she wondered if the redecorating schedule corresponded with ship refits. She turned her attention to the padd she'd brought, and delved into messages.

Her week of recuperation had led to missing classes, the staff mixer on Wednesday night, and the all-staff meeting on Thursday morning. Calloway, one of the other instructors teaching psychology courses, had sent notes from the meeting and let her know that Dumphy had been asking about her again. Torrance Dumphy was one of the engineering department's black sheep, apparently more lacking in social skills than most. He was brilliant in warp physics though, and his students did well enough. She sighed -- her job, now that she was settled, was easier than she anticipated, just work -- no red alerts or huge galaxy-saving exploits. But still there would be these little dramas with other staff.

At the bottom of the list there was a four-day-old message from Mengis. Greg Mengis had exited Starfleet entirely when told they would be leaving the _Enterprise,_ and had indicated he would be in touch -- and here he was. 

_Deanna,_

_I hope that this finds you and the family well. I am on Cariolan Prime at the moment, enjoying the mountains. The sunsets here are breathtaking._

_I will be on Earth in a few weeks. There is a hospital in the Los Angeles metroplex that I am considering and also one in Paris. As you predicted, just going into retirement has not been easy -- coming to a full stop has been difficult. I'll be in San Francisco a few days before my first interview, and would like to check in with you and say hello to everyone._

_Greg_

She was smiling when Jean-Luc came out and they left the admiral's office together. "Some good news?"

"Greg Mengis is coming to Earth for job interviews. He wants to stop in and see us." Deanna tucked the padd into the bag on the chair next to her and slung the strap over her shoulder as she stood up.

"You should have him consult with Beverly while you're here. He's gotten you through similar injuries, he knows you well." 

"We can talk to him about that if there's still a problem, I suppose, but it's weeks away. I'm feeling so much better today, I might not need the help."

"You're sure you want to go to your office? There are a hundred other places we could be today. Perfect weather, no kids. I thought we might visit some of the museums, or just wander the piers." He preceded her into the lift, but once inside he drew her into his arms and kissed her. She laughed as she pulled away. 

"Admiral," she chided, grinning and leaning on him. "Ground floor, please."

The lift went into motion and she wondered how long he would be acting like they'd just gotten married. She knew he was relieved to have her back to normal, though she was feeling a bit tired still. He kept her pulled up against him until the lift stopped and they started to move again.

"It is nice to be able to relax," she commented, following him through the shining foyer past the security desk. The officer on duty waved as they passed.

"Indeed. I'm optimistic about the chances of having more time to ourselves."

They took their time, strolling from Command to the campus, and the closer they came the more cadets they saw. Jogging, walking, traveling in small groups -- a few of them smiled at her in passing and expressed relief that she was recovered, asking when she would be back in class. Many didn't approach -- intimidated by the admiral at her side, no doubt. 

"I haven't talked to anyone other than my direct supervisor about my famous husband, or that I have one at all," she said. "They might ask about you, but most won't be so bold."

That started to bother him. Related to his ongoing ire that no one else seemed to understand that she should be as famous as he, for accomplishments in the line of duty, no doubt. But instead of letting him start to ruminate about it she caught his hand and sidled closer, and smiled up at him.

"Get a room," someone called out. 

They turned as one to find their old counselor approaching -- not in uniform, with a little gray in his hair, but grinning like a fiend. 

"Ben," Deanna exclaimed. "I didn't expect to see you on Starfleet property, I thought you swore off such insanity."

"How are you? Looking great -- I saw your promotion on the news, Admiral, congratulations," he exclaimed, coming up to hug Deanna then offering a hand to Jean-Luc. 

He shook it firmly. "Good to see you. We were just heading over to Dee's office, to pick up something she left there. How is Michelle?" Over the years there had been sporadic correspondence with Ben since he'd left the ship for private practice in San Francisco. He'd married at some point a few years ago.

"We're expecting our first child, actually. How are the kids? I bet they're at the Academy already."

"Not quite yet. You should come to dinner sometime next week." Jean-Luc looked to Deanna for confirmation.

"Do you remember Annika Hansen?" Deanna asked.

"I do. Is she still with you, or has she moved on?" Ben had provided some of Annika's counseling early on.

"She is staying in a hotel here until she comes to some decision as to what she wants -- I thought if you were able to see her it might help," Deanna said. "I wouldn't be able to do any therapy with her myself, and she's resisting the idea of engaging with a new counselor."

"I have some time -- tell her to comm me about an appointment. I see a number of Starfleet officers, at the Academy and at Command -- I'm on my way to meet with one. I usually meet them in their own offices." 

"Don't let us keep you," Deanna said at once. "Contact me Monday and we'll set up a time. I can't wait to meet your wife."

They went on, and Ben waved as he hurried the other direction on the walk. 

"I'm glad some of our old friends are around," Deanna said. She tucked her arm through her husband's as they resumed their stroll. 

"I hope we can convince Annika to meet her aunt."

Getting their 'other child' to be more self sufficient was an ongoing challenge. Annika had enrolled in a cooking class, of all things, deciding that it might help her meet new people. Deanna suspected it to be a tactic to avoid meeting the aunt she was so anxious about -- since Deanna had spoken to Irene, she knew the fear was wholly irrational. Irene was sympathetic and understanding, and agreed to let Annika make contact on her own time.

"I do as well, and not for the same reason as you, silly fish."

"It isn't that I don't want to help her," he said wearily.

"It's starting to feel like an imposition to you perhaps because you left the ship, and she was part of that experience?"

He took another dozen paces to consider. "I think it may be that she regressed, and that's frustrating. Being with Kathryn was a setback for her."

"She still hasn't talked about it. Now I think it's because she does not want to cause me more stress."

"For which I am grateful," Jean-Luc commented.

They reached the psychology building, one of the smaller ones on the campus, and as they approached the main entry Boothby stood up from the shrubbery around the door, where he appeared to be trimming back branches. Deanna exclaimed, "Good morning."

Boothby grinned broadly and stepped out of the flowers, spreading his arms. "Well, well, look who's back." He gave her a big hug and stepped back to look at her again. "Good to see you out and about. I heard you were feeling poorly."

"I'll be back on Monday for class. Have you met my husband?"

Boothby turned and did a double take, looking at Jean-Luc at last. "Mr. Picard," he said warmly. "Admiral, that is. Haven't you come a long way?"

"Yes," he replied. "I have indeed."

"It seems to me I saw a young man who looks like you recently." Boothby was up to his usual, grinning as he played innocent.

"Yves said he wants to come back to help you again. At the moment, he's helping Tom Glendenning with his greenhouse."

That lead to a pause, and some deep thought. "Geraint Glendenning," he said at last. "He always wanted to be Tom, but that wasn't his name at first."

"Yes, that's him. He's a good friend," Deanna said.

 Boothby studied them anew. But he said nothing about his thoughts on the matter. "Well, you tell him to stop in and say hi. I won't keep you -- I have some recalcitrant roses to see about."

"You should talk to Tom, he grows roses, took over the family business when he retired," Jean-Luc said. It got them another startled look but the old gardener said nothing and went to pick up his spade and clippers.

They moved inside, and she led Jean-Luc down the hall to her office. There was apparently no one around; Deanna could sense a few people but they were not close, possibly on one of the upper floors. When they went in, she gasped -- there was a bouquet on the desk. But she turned to Jean-Luc and could tell at once that he was as surprised as she.

Deanna plucked a card out of the stems and sighed. "I have to wonder how Tom got in here."

"Well, that's a relief. Here I thought you might be acquiring more wishful followers."

"No, just the same old man and his rose gardens." She leaned to sniff the massive yellow blooms. "He does a wonderful job with them -- beautiful."

"Beverly says he puts one on her pillow every night. He's nearly as sweet on her as I am on you, I think."

She stepped around the desk, smiling fondly at her husband's remark. "I had a dream about the early days aboard the _Enterprise_. Probably talking to Will the other day stirred up memories. Reminiscing hasn't been something we have done often, but now that everything's slowed down...."

"Yes," he said, feeling a little guilty. "I've had time to think about everything as well. It makes me happier than ever that we've decided as we have -- getting married, having children, and taking care of each other has been a great adventure."

Deanna picked up the padd she'd left on the desk, and glanced around. She'd put some of her books on a shelf above the desk, but there was little else in the office that was personal. She hadn't been here long enough. She stepped around the desk again, slipping the padd in her bag with the other one, and came to stand in front of him, leaning a little. He met her lips to lips for a kiss.

"You may have my attention," she whispered, between kisses.

"Is the door locked?"

"Do you really want to do this here?" 

He kissed her again, and she enjoyed the moment. Put her arms around his neck and leaned against the edge of the desk, letting their minds intertwine as their tongues did. He held her for a few minutes, then let go, stepped back, started to think about what they should do next. He knew she intended to meet Bell to shop with her -- there were still things for him to do around the house.  

"We could always tell them you're tired," he said, as they left her office. "I could put you to bed."

"I would never have guessed you were like this, all those years ago when I was so young and trying to figure out how to get you to talk to me in counseling." 

"I wasn't like this," he said, looking both ways in the hall. "I know, and you know, that I was nothing like this."

"And I wasn't either."

He became quite serious, glancing at her, slowing until they were stopped in the front office. No one was at the reception desk and the lights were at half intensity. She could sense his withdrawal, and wondered what he was questioning. 

"Jean-Luc?" she prompted at last.

"I wonder if you might be having difficulty with -- "

Deanna smiled sadly at his apparent inability to put words to it. "I have a few difficulties. Yes. One of them is still the recovery from what happened with Pembroke. I'm still adjusting to being on Earth, though I've very much enjoyed our honeymoon, being together again. Something about making the transition makes me so sad. I knew I would miss our life aboard the  _Enterprise_. I didn't anticipate an ongoing reaction like this. We agreed it was time, and I meant that. But I feel the loss."

Now he reminded her of how he'd been, before. He couldn't seem to look her in the eye.

"But I know it will pass," she added, reaching for his hand. That brought his attention back to her. "I know we're going to adjust."

"What can I do to help?"

She laughed quietly, and stepped into his arms. "You've already been doing it."

It was nice, being able to spend more time being with him off duty. She kept realizing it over again, and it reminded her of how hypervigilant they had always been on the ship, because she found herself anticipating interruptions -- but there were no red alerts at the Academy. She leaned on his chest and closed her eyes for a minute, feeling better for it.

He nudged them back into motion after a few minutes, and they left the building. Boothby was nowhere to be seen as they strolled back along the walk.

They walked all the way home, and by the time they turned into the yard they were both relaxed and enjoying just being together. Setting aside stressful things, however temporarily, was a longstanding habit. They paused as one upon seeing Annika sitting on the top step in front of their door. She stood up and regarded them with such sobriety that Deanna knew something had changed. Annika wore black and white pinstripe pants and a deep green blouse, a new outfit that suggested she had been occupying part of her time with shopping. 

"Are you all right?" Deanna asked, moving forward to open the door. She put a hand on Annika's shoulder as she stepped in to put her palm to the panel. "Come in and have some tea."

Annika said nothing, as they replicated cups of tea and moved out to the patio. The house was quiet, as the kids wouldn't be home from Tom's til later in the evening. Deanna sat at the round table in the middle of the pavement, the larger table having been put away, and watched Annika sit across from her. Jean-Luc hesitated, but when she didn't ask him to do otherwise, he sat down on her right, his cup of Earl Grey in hand.

"I've been thinking a lot, as you suggested," Annika said. Her eyes danced around then settled on hers. 

"And?"

"I wonder if you could help me understand why someone would lie about -- " She hesitated, open-mouthed, obviously caught up in how disturbing it was to put it into words. "He said that he loved me."

Deanna nodded. Obviously Annika was moving from the cognitive understanding of her situation into trying to work through the emotional piece, which she had likely initially wanted to ignore. She understood, but she couldn't feel anything but pain now that she was allowing herself to work through. Jean-Luc went stiff, not liking this at all, but raised his cup to his lips and attempted to hide that ire. 

"What was his name?"

"Aaron," Annika said, after a moment of consideration. She sighed, looking down into her cup again. "I heard from Captain Janeway. She wants to speak to me over subspace directly about what happened. I'm not sure I want to do that."

"Are you ready to talk about her?"

Her blue eyes flicked to Jean-Luc then back to Deanna. He leaned forward slightly, as if about to rise. "If you would rather speak to...."

A smile at that. "No. Thank you. I would appreciate your insight as well."

"Tell us, then," Deanna said softly. She put down her cup and folded her hands in her lap. 

It took her another moment to refocus, collect her thoughts. "I offered to help in the lounge as I had been doing aboard the  _Enterprise_. I was spending time with the captain and Chakotay, and their children. I met Aaron a few days after I got there. He would spend time talking to me while I was in the lounge and there was little to do. It evolved rapidly. I -- " Annika was turning red, thinking about it, but instead of stopping, she paused, then forced herself to continue. "I allowed myself to believe it all and when it stopped -- I was shocked by how painful it was. I started to talk to him about whether or not I should stay... he became distant. When I asked him why, he shrugged it off and denied there was a problem. And then I didn't hear from him -- I contacted him and he told me he didn't want to talk -- "

Deanna wished she had thought to get some tissues before they sat down. Jean-Luc responded to the thought, by getting up and going inside, returning with a handkerchief to offer. Annika hated crying, dreaded talking about difficult things -- Deanna suspected that it was a trigger for assimilation trauma. 

"This Aaron is about your age?" Jean-Luc asked, sitting down in his chair. 

Annika paused in mopping her face; the question had surprised her. "Yes."

"Young men are assholes," Jean-Luc said.

It shocked her -- Deanna suppressed the smile of amusement. He meant well. It disrupted the tears that he found difficult to deal with. He could handle his daughters' histrionics and his wife's tears, but Annika was neither and he still felt uncomfortable about these rare moments when she hit a point of crisis and regressed.

"Aaron does not yet have the capacity to tolerate uncomfortable feelings that would arise if he were to be honest with you," Deanna said. "I suspect that he felt badly but it's hard to say. Typically young green officers are more focused on their career, rather than self expression."

Rationalizations were not what Annika needed, she knew, but the young woman preferred the realm of the cognitive. A familiar tactic for humans to use. She wished Annika had someone in her life that would provide physical comfort in an appropriate way. A father, a brother, a mother -- physical comfort was so important to children, and Annika hadn't gotten it since her assimilation other than occasional hugs from people she had been relying on to help her with a more gradual, more natural assimilation back into humanity.

Annika stood up from her chair and was about to flee, as she tended to do when embarrassed by her "outbursts." Jean-Luc stood with her and reached over to touch her shoulder. He'd clearly been picking up on Deanna's thoughts. There was an awkward, startled moment spent looking at him, at Deanna, at the floor, at him -- as Annika seemed frozen, Jean-Luc moved slowly in to put an arm around her, and stood waiting for her to react.

Annika shuddered, and Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna -- she gave him a nod. "Annika," he said softly.

She made a quiet, distressed sound and swayed on her feet slightly. Jean-Luc gave up on waiting and took a step, turning to hug her. Deanna watched the distressed woman shudder again, almost start to resist, but she looked at Deanna with wide blue eyes, observed her foster mother calmly watching with sympathy in her expression, and started to cry again.

It was horrible to hear her sob, then start to wail. She seemed to be tapping into much more than the heartbreak of her first failed love affair, and Deanna went to stand with them, as Jean-Luc was starting to feel alarm that the sobbing was lasting longer than he expected. Deanna put her hands on Annika's shoulders. She felt another shudder in Annika's back.

Eventually, the doorbell echoed through the house, disrupting it. Annika yanked away and ran inside, heading for the bathroom. Deanna watched her go, then stepped in to embrace her husband, to soothe each other. He was wondering who was at the front door.

"Computer, admit our guest," Deanna said, standing away from him. "I think you helped her more than you think."

"If you say so." He yanked his jacket straight, turning as Bell came out through the dining area into the courtyard. 

"I've come at a bad time," she said, hesitating short of her goal, sizing them up.

"It's all right, Bell. Come on, I should change out of the uniform -- come talk to me while I change."

Jean-Luc hung back, waiting for Annika to return, as they left the courtyard. In the master bedroom, Bell sat on the end of the bed and watched her go through the closet.

"What is it that you're wanting to talk to me about?" Deanna asked as she drew out the topaz - it was a copy of a dress that had long been one of Jean-Luc's favorites for her.

Bell laughed, but it wasn't one of her sparkling, happy ones. It had been obvious that Bell was going through the kind of anguish that only a parent suffered. "I don't want to add to your own difficulties."

"Annika is here. She's going through her first heartbreak. Cordie is more hysterical than before, and it's not clear whether that's because of my problems or because she's having some issue of her own. And this is nothing new, because all the little dramas of people around us have always been a factor. How is John doing over at Tom's today?"

Deanna turned from her dressing table with earrings in hand, to see Bell staring at her with sad eyes. She wrung her hands and let them fall in her lap, shrugging. "I spoke to Will before I got here. He said John is making a good show but he's still sullen, sometimes. Why can't it be simpler than this? He stopped being happy last year, and nothing we've done has helped. It's been the opposite. We encourage, cajole, I still try to hug him and he shrugs it off. We had to intervene when he started acting out. Now it's like he lives in his world, and we're in ours. I miss my little boy," she exclaimed, starting to rub at her eyes to wipe tears.

Deanna went to the bed, dropped the dress to one side, and sat next to Bell. They put their arms around each other and sat quietly for a bit.

"If you would like to go shopping," Deanna murmured. "Or we could just take a walk?"

"Maybe we should. Maybe your parenting skills will rub off on me if we spend more time together."

Deanna laughed at that. "Maybe I'm fortunate in having kids that sense when I'm upset and stop being little assholes? You know that kids are all assholes for some fraction of their development? Some for longer than others."

"Deanna, I'm shocked. How could you say Yves is an asshole?"

"How many examples do you need? Torturing his little sister? The time he put a mirror in his closet and sent me into cardiac arrest?"

Bell put her hand over her mouth.

"Please don't compare John to anyone," Deanna said. "You love him. Focus on doing that. The rest will work out."

Bell nodded, still crying a little.

"Let's go down to my favorite bakery and have a cup of coffee."


	11. Returning Home to a Place You've Never Been

 

Annika materialized on the public transporter pad in Newark, and immediately turned to her companion. The admiral hadn't worn his uniform. The transporter attendant in San Francisco had mistaken them for a father and daughter, but he hadn't bothered to correct the young woman. So Annika was already on edge, unsure of what to make of his reaction.

Being on Earth was overwhelming. She'd visited many worlds by now, of course, but this was the planet her parents had been born on. Moving to the Tendara colony had been a choice her paternal grandparents had made, and so her aunt and father had been taken there. Irene had returned to Earth and now had a farm somewhere. The correspondence with her aunt had been nearly as anxiety-provoking as arriving in the terminal on the moon and looking down at the world where all humans in the galaxy had originated. 

While aboard the starships on which she'd resided for the past years since her recovery from the Borg, she had been focused on the process of learning how to be human. She hadn't thought beyond her day to day until Captain Picard had discussed with her the transition to Earth that his family would be making. Then it became her entire focus -- where she would go, what she would do. Going to visit Captain Janeway had been framed as a visit but in the back of her mind she'd hoped that it might become another home. But Janeway had been unexpectedly different than when they were on  _Voyager_.

Or, as Annika had thought, she herself was different. 

"I think that's your aunt," the admiral said, as they stepped off the pad. There were about fifty people milling around waiting on the pavement around the public transporter, but only one of them seemed to be showing any interest in them. Annika had spoken to her aunt on an open channel several days previous, at last, and knew that the older woman had slightly darker blond hair and an easy smile. 

Irene approached them as they left the transporter and held out her hands. Annika moved slowly forward to embrace the woman tentatively, and Irene seemed to understand that the contact made her anxious and stood back within seconds. But she held Annika's shoulders and smiled warmly, gazing into her eyes.

"I'm so glad you are here," she exclaimed, nodding. "You have your father's eyes, my dear. I didn't see it so clearly over subspace. I have a room ready for you." Irene let go and turned to the admiral. "Thank you, Admiral, for everything you've done for my niece."

"Annika has been like family to us," he said. "She said you have a farm?"

Annika usually tried to stifle her surprised reactions to others, as she'd discovered it would result in a reaction to her that led to uncomfortable and unnecessary explanations on her part. Being surprised about things that people took for granted was one of the many things about her that people didn't understand. But the admiral's statement made her flinch, and she turned to look at him. 

"I do have a farm -- I have a few chickens, a small flock of sheep, but most of the acreage is planted in apples," Irene said. "It was my uncle's place until he left it to us in the will."

The admiral turned to Annika, who had recovered from her shock. "You'll have to tell us all about it when you get back." He'd already reassured her she could come back, though she felt more and more like an imposition.

"Yes," Annika said faintly. "Thank you for being willing to accompany me."

He stepped toward her, and before she could react to his proximity he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek -- something she had seen him do with his children, and Deanna had explained long ago that it was the case in many human cultures that such a gesture was common especially with family. Then the admiral was walking off, to return to San Francisco. "Give us a call when you're ready to come home," he said over his shoulder.

"What a lovely man," Irene said, giving Annika another shock. She laughed when Annika flinched. "My dear, come along. We have a lot to talk about."

They crossed the pavement to the street, where vehicles were parked along the curb. Irene had a flitter much like the one the Picard family had, and after setting the computer to take them home on autopilot, her aunt glanced at her again.

"I still have difficulties with conversation," Annika confessed, feeling awkward. Her aunt had been one of the few people with whom she had shared details of her experience, albeit in a limited fashion. And always in messages, until she'd called to discuss a visit at Deanna's encouragement.

"What would you like to talk about? You can practice with me," Irene said, adjusting the scarf around her neck. She wore a bronze-colored blouse with a collar and slacks in a darker shade, and as Annika paid closer attention, she noticed a gold necklace under the collar of the shirt. Something she had questioned long ago, jewelry, and previous explanations from Deanna suggested that the necklace being hidden likely indicated sentimental reasons rather than wearing jewelry for show. The offer of practice wasn't surprising, as Annika had mentioned in one of her many messages that she felt anxious in social situations.

"You mentioned in your messages that you farm because you enjoy it. What would you be doing if you were not operating a farm?"

"Well, I was a teacher for a while. I would probably go back to that. I haven't had children of my own but I enjoy working with them. You mentioned that your friends have children -- have you spent time with them?"

"Yes," Annika replied, watching the cityscape going by as they traveled. "Four children. I have spent considerable time with them. But I have also observed that they are not as chaotic as many of the other children that I have encountered." 

Irene faced forward, eyes on the road in front of them, hands folded in her lap. "How long were you aboard the  _Enterprise_?"

"About five years." It was surprising her again, thinking about it. Five years had felt like a long time. When she'd been Borg, she experienced time very differently. Accounted for every second as it was experienced. The human brain, as everyone had told her in so many different ways, was not a computer, not as exacting, and experiences were different -- time passage was subjective. An hour could be experienced as slow or it might fly by while one was occupied with a task. 

"Is something wrong?" Irene asked softly, and it startled her out of deep thought.

"No. I'm remembering what it was like to experience life after Captain Janeway took me from the Borg, and how far I've come since then. How different it was for me aboard the  _Enterprise_."

"I would guess the change was difficult to make," Irene said.

Annika turned to stare at her aunt. After a moment's contemplation, she said, "Do you want to know what it's like to be a Borg drone?" It was often one of the first things people asked about.

"I wouldn't ask as I expect that must be something you would not wish to discuss. Your friend Deanna said that it was traumatic. I confess that I took the time to do some research, though there isn't much I could find being I'm not Starfleet."

"I -- " There had been sessions when her counselors over the past five years had asked her to describe it to them. Words often failed, as when she'd spoken about the order of her days as a drone the counselors asked for clarification of how it felt, rather than the objective content of the data she'd had streaming through her consciousness. "Drones have no feelings," she said at last. It seemed to her that the primary differences between a drone and a person might be a place to start. "They have no preferences. I was put in a maturation chamber for approximately two months, accelerating my physical body to near-maturity, and then implants were added to my body and brain. I didn't have a childhood or transition to adult -- I didn't go to school. There was a direct link to the hive mind, that fed information to me directly as it was required. I made no decisions and had no opinions. There were no opportunities or choices. And then when I was tasked with interfacing with  _Voyager_ and the captain had me removed from the Collective. The doctor started to remove my implants. It was -- "

The flitter hummed onward for a few moments.

"You started to feel pain, after not having any," Irene said. "And I suppose that having endless choices after having none at all must be overwhelming."

Annika stared at her aunt again. "You have spoken to Deanna about this."

Irene nodded. "I did. However, I also experienced my own trauma, when our colony was attacked. And when the farm was left to me, I returned to Earth and took it over, instead of staying and teaching and trying to recover. I have found that people often want to give advice, or ask endless questions. I found that the quiet and the people who will simply be there and allow you the space to feel and think are the best way. We all have a way through the trauma, and it's unique to us. So I know that you need less questioning and more time to work through."

This was similar to something that had been said numerous times, by counselors and by Captain Picard. But Irene wasn't Starfleet, or a counselor. It felt like something more accessible to her, and Annika found herself fighting tears. Irene didn't know the story from beginning to end, but she seemed to understand just the same. 

They rode silently as the flitter transitioned from city to countryside, and turned up a side road. When the vehicle stopped in front of a small white house with a yard full of flowers Annika followed her aunt's lead, getting out of the flitter and heading for the front door.

Sudden barking erupted from the greenery on the left, and a white blur shot out of the grass at the base of some vines draped along a fence. Annika backed away quickly, but the dog gave chase, growling and barking, teeth flashing. She screamed and found herself braced against the side of the flitter. 

"Grover! Come!" Irene shouted sternly, clapping her hands. "I'm so sorry, just wait a minute."

But the hyperventilating had started -- Annika hadn't had a panic attack in months, but it was a familiar thing, so once Irene had the dog by the collar and dragged it off, she tried to catch her breath, failed, and did as Counselor Davidson had suggested -- she tried to sigh instead, which unlike trying to inhale actually worked. By the time Irene returned without the dog she had regained control of her breathing and was wiping tears from her face.

"I'm sorry, Nika," her aunt exclaimed. She came to hug her, and the embrace was too much. Fortunately Irene was paying attention and let go quickly when she noticed Annika was stiffening against her. "Annika?"

"I'm fine," Annika insisted, holding up her hands as if fending her off. She turned back to the flitter to retrieve her bag from the back. By the time she turned around again, Irene was watching her with a concerned and puzzled expression. "Occasionally I still have panic attacks. He startled me."

"Come in, please." Irene led her to the house.

The interior was sparsely decorated. In some ways it reminded Annika of the Picard family home, as it had been on the holodeck; she hadn't yet been to the real house. Irene guided her around the home to show her where everything was, the room she would be in, and she asked for a moment to herself. Irene left her in the small bedroom, and though she'd intended to unpack her bag, she sat on the bed, on a white quilt embroidered with flowers, looked around at the plain white walls and the lamp on a small table next to the bed, and felt lost.

It was nothing new. She'd been feeling lost, unless she went to see Deanna, or the admiral, and when Deanna had been in the hospital and everyone so involved in worrying about her, Annika had been adrift. Not wanting to be intrusive, she had visited the hospital a few times, but mostly kept to herself, wandering the city and being essentially invisible. When Deanna had awakened and gone home, she'd made herself as available as she could tolerate. The Picards had so many friends, and all of them were at ease in the efforts to help the family. Observing the easy humor and conversations between them all had resulted in Annika feeling irritation, jealousy, sadness, anger, and setting it all aside, because by now she knew that none of it was helpful. She understood why she felt alone -- she'd lost her home, the ship she'd been on, and the  _Enterprise_ had been given to another captain who would be unlikely to allow her to stay. The hotel room she'd been in had given her a place to sit and read, or listen, to news and to books, in her ongoing attempt to orient herself and try to find direction.

She looked down at the light tan carpeting and frowned. This felt like the hotel room. Empty. 

The door, which was the more traditional hinged swinging door that seemed prevalent in buildings on Earth, had been left ajar. It swung open a little more, startling her, and the dog came in -- wagging its tail, it trotted to her and sniffed her knee, and sat, tail wagging. This was behavior similar to Fidele, the Picard's artificial dog, but she knew this was a real dog. She had never liked pets. 

"You aren't supposed to be here," she said. 

Grover thumped his tail on the floor. He had long shaggy white hair, and his eyes were barely visible through his bangs. When she didn't touch him, he got up, turned in place, settled on his side, curled up and exhaled loudly, then appeared to go to sleep. 

Another wave of sadness washed over her. She reached down to haul the duffel up to the bed, and rummaged through it. When she found her communicator, the message waiting indicator on the small disk already blinked. She held it in her palm and tapped it. "Play message."

"I wanted to check with you to see how you are doing," Deanna's voice said. "Call me."

Annika inhaled sharply. Brushing away a few tears with the back of her hand, she scowled, but finally touched the communicator again. "Hansen to Troi."

"Annika," came the immediate response. "How is it going?"

"There's a dog in my room," she said, as Grover raised his head and watched her at the sound of her voice. "I feel -- "

Deanna waited, as she usually did, while Annika groped for the words. At long last, she asked, "Do you want to come home?"

Annika put her hand over her mouth and tried not to sob. "I like her," she said after a moment, with more air than sound in the words. "I want to know her better."

"I have been waiting to speak to you, since I know how you have been struggling but I also know that you do not appreciate intrusive questions."

Annika's words caught in her throat. 

"I have wondered if I might have done or said something differently," Deanna said. "There have been times that I wanted to just hug you, but I know you are sensitive to being touched."

"I -- " 

When she didn't continue, Deanna did. "Can I come and see you? This is a very poor way to help anyone. I know you don't want to leave, and I have friends with transporters."

"Please," she said, more tears starting to fall.

"I'll be there shortly." The communicator chirped. She set it next to the lamp on the table. Grover sat up and put his chin on her knee, looking at her face forlornly.

"You are a nuisance." Her hand went to his head, and the dog closed his eyes as she patted him awkwardly. She tried stroking his fur, the strokes longer and longer, and the dog huffed and bent his head as if angling to get the attention where he wanted it. His tail beat a slow cadence on the carpet.

She was still petting Grover when Deanna arrived at the door. She wore her uniform, and smiled upon seeing her. "Irene let me in. She's waiting in the kitchen -- the lunch she's making smells wonderful. Is this her dog?"

"He barked at me, in the yard. It frightened me."

Deanna sat with her on the bed, and said nothing, instead put her arms around Annika. Her hand went to the back of Annika's neck, curling around the base of her skull, and she realized she was being held in a way very similar to how she'd seen Deanna hold one of the twins, possessively and with complete acceptance of whatever burden she carried. Annika found herself relaxing into the embrace, her cheek to Deanna's shoulder, and cried for a bit as Deanna started to rock slightly.

"There is nothing about you that will drive me away," Deanna said softly.

That elicited sobbing. It took a while, to breathe without a catch -- she still felt embarrassed, but Deanna patted her back and let her linger until she could sit up and smile.

"Wash your face, and we'll go talk to Irene. I saw some flowers in her yard that I'd like to plant in our courtyard, I'd like to find out what they are."

What was left of the Borg in her sent a stray thought through her mind, that flowers were irrelevant. That it happened was her tipoff that the strain of trying to find her way through the loneliness and heartbreak had pushed her to her limits; it took a lot of stress to bring the Borg back up. "Flowers are relevant," she said, as a way of telling Deanna without talking it out all over again.

Deanna smiled and brushed strands of hair back over her ear -- a gesture she'd seen her make with Amy and Cordelia, but had never done to her before. "A great many things in life are relevant, for different reasons, and some more than others. Take a deep breath. Can you tell me how you feel about me?"

It was a strange question, Annika thought. She blinked away residual tears, and shrugged as she crossed her arms. "I love you," she said after deciding there was no other way to say it.

"I love you," Deanna said without hesitation. "Do you have a sense of why?"

"We've talked about love and all the different relationships that include it. It isn't rational to see you as a parent because I have never been a child, let alone your child." She took another deep breath, knowing that she would be reminded if she didn't. "But you're about to tell me that emotions are rarely rational."

"And remind you of what we've also discussed before, that you're unique and it's impossible to expect you to follow the usual progression of human development. I've made an appointment with one of the neurologists at Starfleet Medical. I'll go with you, next week. When you get back from Irene's."

Annika blinked at the sudden assertion of authority. Deanna had always been careful to let her make decisions for herself.

"Yes," Deanna said, acknowledging her surprise. "I know -- but you started to react to Jean-Luc as a daughter would, and you are accepting comfort from me. And so I wonder if you might let us step in to provide parenting, since you are apparently needing the reassurance and nurturing at the moment? We've been worried about you."

Annika smiled, not even irritated by more tears. "Thank you. I've felt so -- "

"Lost, confused. Yes. But for the first time in a long time you're not being angry with yourself or trying to put it all aside. I see this as progress."

"Thank you," Annika said again, unsure of what else to say.

"Why don't you wash your face and meet us in the kitchen?" Deanna touched her cheek -- another new gesture -- and left the room.

It felt abrupt. But Annika felt relieved, that she had guidance -- it helped do away with the lost feeling. She stood up, and Grover leaped to his feet, wagging his tail expectantly. "I am not playing with you," she informed him, but the happy dog trailed after her down the hall to the bathroom. He watched her wash her face and hands, dry them off, and bounced after her to the front of the house and into the dining room. Irene was putting a cup of tea in front of Deanna at the table, and smiled at her.

"It looks like you've made a new friend, Grover," she said to the dog.

"Your dog is a nuisance," Annika said.

Deanna chuckled at that. "Annika is used to our dog, who is not really a dog."

Taking the chair to Deanna's left, Annika sat down. Grover plopped at her feet under the table and sighed.

"What kind of tea would you like, Nika?" Irene asked.

"Why do you call me that?"

Irene looked sad, for a moment. "I used to call you Nika, when you were very young. You were almost six the last time I saw you -- before you left with your parents, on that ship. I know you probably don't remember it."

"I remember a few things. There was a gray cat, with very long fur."

Irene grinned. "Yes. Bouncer was my cat. He was so good with you, he let you carry him around everywhere."

"Perhaps I will remember more, if we talk about this," Annika said.

Deanna smiled at her merrily -- she'd never willingly talked about her brief childhood before.

"Progress," Annika said quietly.

Irene was heading into the kitchen. "If you don't choose I'll just bring you chamomile," she announced.

"Do you have any Earl Grey?"


	12. Mind Games

Deanna returned to the house the same way she had left -- beamed in using the Academy transporter. It was Monday late in the evening in San Francisco, and the children were home from school, Jean-Luc on his way home -- a late meeting had popped up. When the transporter effect ceased she turned to find Tom standing on the lawn with a pair of long-handled loppers, about to have his way with the tree.

"Are we signing a contract for you to do our yardwork soon?" she asked, leaving the walk to survey the pile of branches under the tree.

"Wanted to talk to you, so I came by -- figured I'd make myself useful waiting. Do you have a minute?"

She gestured at the door, and they went in the house. Cordelia ran out to hug her as they came in the door. "Carrie has a litter of puppies," she informed them ecstatically.

"Good information. Did you finish?" She'd asked Cordie to clean her room.

"Yes, but Pierre is still working on his. I'll go clean the kitchen," she exclaimed. "Is Annika coming over today?"

"She went to her aunt's house for a few days. I'm sure she'll tell you all about it when she comes home."

As Deanna went into the courtyard, Tom followed her, and Cordie went in the kitchen. "Annika lives here now?" Tom asked.

"We don't have room, but we'll have to help her find something. She's been struggling. What do you want to discuss?" She sat down at the patio table and watched him sit across from her.

"I had a thought about the kids -- do you think Yves would like a job?"

"A job doing what? Helping you with the greenhouses?"

Tom grinned. "He can do that, but I was thinking more about having him do a little marketing on my behalf. There's a lot of florists around San Francisco."

"Well, it's an interesting idea, but he's kept himself fairly busy. Have you already talked to him about it?"

"Not yet. I figured you and Jean-Luc would want to talk about it first. I'm not talking anything scheduled, just fit it in when he has the time."

Deanna grinned. "You're not giving the others jobs?"

"I could. Figured Verly would scream at me if I tried, though. How is it at the Academy since you've gone back?"

"Two days isn't a good measure. It's exhausting," she replied. "But I'm going to bed early and taking it easy. I still intend to go see Pembroke. I want to discuss further the possibility of modifying my approach. What?" 

Tom was scowling. Very unusual for him. "I'm with your beau on this one. I don't think you should do it again."

"I understand why he's concerned, but -- "

"Maybe he didn't fully inform you as to how horrible it was for him?" Tom said, in the most nonchalant, mildly curious tone.

It annoyed her, and she must have been glaring -- Tom rolled his eyes and laughed, sounding more like the starship captain she'd known than the quieter, softer man he'd become. He'd lost a lot of the anxious edge he'd had. Likely a result of retirement plus the absence of further threat from the Section, which they had done their best to disperse. Sometimes she missed the sharp comebacks and over-the-top humor.

"You know we'll make our decisions as we please," she said at last, without ire.

The computer interrupted. "Incoming transmission from Captain Janeway."

Deanna sat for a few seconds in shock. "I should take this. Can you wait?"

"Got all the time in the world," Tom said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. "Say hi to Kathy for me."

She hurried through the house to the multimedia room at the back, where the children played their games and they received private subspace calls. She closed the door behind her and stepped up to the viewscreen on the wall. "Computer, connect the call."

Janeway sitting in her ready room appeared on the screen, wearing the severe black uniform and holding a coffee cup, which she put down as the connection was made. "Deanna, how are you? I tried to call before but Yves said you were injured?"

"Yes, I'm back at work now. He didn't tell me you'd called, I'm so sorry."

"I'm just glad to see you're okay. Yves looked very stressed and tired." Janeway sat back in her chair again, now that the check-in was over. "How is Jean-Luc liking his new position?"

"He seems to be taking to it well, so far. Admiral Bettencourt likes him, as much as a Vulcan could be accused of liking anybody. How are the children, and Chakotay?"

They went down the list -- Kathryn asked after the twins, Amy, even Tom and Beverly. That Annika was the last in the line of friends and family was expected. Kathryn knew it would be an extended conversation.

"I suppose Annika told you what happened while she was here," she said at last.

"She did. This young man she was in love with did us no favors."

Janeway's scowl wasn't typical of her. "Annika did herself no favors, ignoring my advice. We had talked about him, about dating in general and Aaron in particular. He's fairly well known as a flirt and a tease."

"You told her not to," Deanna said, making it a half-question.

"I warned her. But I know we all need to learn things the hard way," Kathryn went on.

Deanna frowned. She turned when the door opened, and Cordelia leaned into the room, concern all over her face -- the generator was off. "What's up, Cordie?" Deanna asked, nonchalant, hoping to convey the message that there was actually nothing wrong. Her daughter probably sensed the tension of the conversation.

Cordelia glanced at the screen, and said, "Are we having dinner soon?"

"We're waiting for your father to get home from his meeting. I know it's later than usual." Deanna took a second to check -- Jean-Luc responded at once, and she smiled. "He's almost here, why don't you get everyone ready for dinner?"

"Thanks Maman!" The door shut and Cordelia's eager shouting could be heard through the door.

"I can see this is a bad time -- we should set up a time for tomorrow."

"Ten hundred hours -- I'll be in my office, we won't be interrupted. Good night, Kathryn."

After the connection was terminated, Deanna went to supervise the meal, and found Yves had stepped in -- Tom was tossing suggestions and Amy setting the table in the dining room. Beverly arrived at the same time as Jean-Luc, and dinner went without a hitch. The kids were all about their school activities, which was reassuring; everything was starting to go back to routine, instead of the tension about her recovery putting all else aside.

While the kids cleared the table and then went back to their evening routines, the adults lingered with a last glass of wine. "How was it today?" Deanna asked Jean-Luc.

His expression changed, to one of his subdued, distressed faces -- he had always been good at that face. "Difficult. Things are not going well out there."

Beverly and Tom then had the same expression -- worried, frustrated, sad. Beverly glanced at Deanna and turned her attention to her wine glass.

"How is Pembroke?" Deanna asked softly, eyeing her friend.

Beverly blinked at her. "He's holding his ground. He hasn't shown any signs of consciousness, though. You aren't thinking about trying again, I hope?"

"Not until I speak to the others again. I think we need more information before anyone makes any attempt. I'm going to think about it only after I know more about what happened. How do you think I'm doing?"

Beverly pressed her lips together, and after a moment she answered the question with less evasion than before. "From the last checkup, I'd say you're almost back to normal. Which is phenomenal. You're doing really well."

"Good. Then my decision-making shouldn't be considered impaired, should it?"

"Dee," Tom began, but fell silent again.

"I know you're concerned, but I assure you that I have no intent of allowing myself to be injured that way again," Deanna said. "I'm not going to do that to us. In other news, I did speak to Kathryn earlier." 

Jean-Luc sighed heavily. "And what did the captain have to say?"

"I believe that she has forgotten that Annika is still working on emotional maturity, and still struggling with gaps in her development. It's too easy to listen to her talk and believe that she understands fully."

"Kathryn has always seemed sympathetic to her," Beverly said. "Did something change?"

"Annika seems to me to be still very young emotionally," Jean-Luc said. He reached for the bottle of Cabernet they were nursing. Everyone flinched a little at the sound of a loud concussion from the kids' side of the house, but he poured another half a glass for himself instead of investigating. "I wonder if she might have been trying very hard to appear more adjusted than she is for her old mentor."

"Whatever happened, it's obvious that Annika believed she was ready for it and jumped in with both feet thinking she knew exactly what to expect. The emotional reaction she had was not as she thought it would be. Now she is sliding down into insecurity and feeling like she's failing, and even a bit hopeless." Deanna smiled, at the thought of Irene and her dog. "She was hesitant to visit her aunt while in such a state, but I think it's the best thing for her -- she had a little meltdown once she was there, so I beamed over to reassure her. Irene is smart and empathetic, and has her well in hand. She's learning to like pets."

"Poor kid," Tom said, crossing his arms and leaning back. 

"Maybe we should talk to her about going to one of the colleges," Jean-Luc said. 

Deanna thought about the woman she'd been shepherding through crisis after crisis. She was tired, and her head started to hurt. And from Jean-Luc's sharp look at her he knew it. "I should rest," she said, agreeing with his thought. "I'm feeling less out of it than I was, but I'm still tiring easily."

"I agree," Beverly said. "Come by in the morning so I can check you over at Starfleet Medical."

"I'm getting tired of Starfleet Medical, but I'll be there, so I can also talk to you about Pembroke."

Tom gave her a look, but said nothing other than good night, as he and Beverly went their way. After they were gone, Deanna headed for the bedroom, while Jean-Luc went to see that the children were getting ready for bed. She took off her jacket, pulled the shirt over her head, and was leaning down to pull off the pants when Jean-Luc returned. He started the same process, taking off his uniform, and they dropped them in the hamper in the corner.

"What is it?" she murmured, not liking his pensive mood.

He turned, running his hand over his head as if concerned about his hair. He always looked at her with affection, and when she stood in front of him wearing just her bra he was easily distracted. "I can't stop thinking about it. Worrying. I wonder if you were really ready to come down to Earth."

This was something he'd brought up once before. "I want to be with my family. I don't need to be in space. But as I said, adjusting is becoming more difficult than I expected."

"Why are you so driven to keep revisiting Pembroke's situation?" He went to his side of the bed and sat down. Strangely, he was slumped forward for a minute, and it reminded her of the months he'd been on medical leave, after being so badly injured by the K'korll. But he sat up and got in bed, and she joined him, the two of them sitting up against the pillows for a moment before she formulated her answer.

"I think there's more to be learned about his situation. I think it might be important to understand what's going on -- if the balance of power in the Beta Quadrant has changed again, the Sisnok might be more successful than they were or possibly become a puppet of some other species.... I think there's more to be learned, and I want to help."

"I thought we were done with this," he murmured, letting his head fall back to rest against the tall oak headboard. "I wanted to relax. Enjoy this period of our lives, with the kids becoming adults. Being with you without the constant interruptions of red alerts and battles and injuries."

Deanna sighed, closing her eyes, and thought about everything they'd learned about the Randra Alliance, the Beta Quadrant.... "I want that as well. But if there is information that could keep us safe for the rest of our lives -- "

"Yes, yes," Jean-Luc said, waving a hand. "Forgive my selfishness."

She laughed, and leaned over to put her cheek to his shoulder. His arm went around her automatically. "Never. Be selfish. I want the same, you know that I do. And I know that you were once nothing but an officer, who thought about nothing but being an officer."

"And then my brother turned out to be right about everything," he said mournfully. "I wish he were still alive to mock me about it."

"Jean," she murmured. Evidently she wasn't the only one still trying to adjust, and beset by memories of previous stages of their lives.

"I know. No decisions unless things are settled. I'm trying to accept that things might not settle for a while longer."

"I want them to settle. Come with me tomorrow, to Starfleet Medical?"

"Bettencourt has been forgiving enough. As long as I'm there for the meeting. Are you ready to sleep?"

He obviously knew how tired she was -- she yawned as he asked. They shifted down into bed, and she relaxed in his arms and fell asleep thinking about the early months of their time together, for some reason. She dreamed about the wedding, and some of their adventures together. When she opened her eyes again, sunlight was filtering through the curtains, and she could sense that two out of four children were awake already.

Jean-Luc woke at the same time, almost the same moment, and she could sense the familiar process of preparing himself for the day, though there was a decided upturn of his mood. "We were dreaming together," he said.

"Oh. That's promising." It meant everything was back to normal. It made her smile, too. "It was a nice dream."

"I don't suppose you still have that dress somewhere?"

She snorted. "As if it would fit."

That set off concern, and he sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. She watched the back of his head, while he worked out a response. He turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder at her out of the corner of his eye. "I am suspecting that you are being overly critical of yourself."

Another snort. "I seem to recall that was your habit? Perhaps you've rubbed off on -- "

"Now you're resorting to old jokes to deflect, which is a Glendenning sort of tactic."

Deanna sniffed and closed her eyes again. "There really is no way to get away with it, I see."

"I want to warn you that I'm likely to take offense, if you start to insult my wife."

She couldn't help laughing at him. His good mood was indeed rubbing off on her, and she rolled up on her knees and draped herself over his shoulders. He bore her weight and reached up to pat her arm, and when it started to be uncomfortable they left the bed to get ready for the day. She could tell the other two children were waking, and it would soon be time for breakfast.


	13. Poster Boys

"I hope she doesn't," Tom said. 

Will glanced across the table at the retired captain, and shrugged slightly. "Pretty sure she'll do as she wants to, regardless."

They were at a table outside the café down the street from Command, waiting for Jean-Luc. It was unlike their friend to be so late, but evidently being an admiral was anything but relaxed. It was making Will think twice about what position to accept. Tactical Operations seemed to call in people at odd hours of the day. He'd been offered something in Security division as well. The interview would be tomorrow. Will leaned back with his coffee and glanced up and down the street.

"There he is," Tom exclaimed. "Looks upset."

Will twisted to see the admiral walking rapidly down the sidewalk toward the café as if on his way to deal with a red alert. Civilians were dodging out of his way as he came. His shadow, deLio, might have been part of why civilians were fleeing; the L'norim kept up with his charge and was obviously on full alert. As they reached the cafe he let Jean-Luc reach the table alone, fell into parade rest a couple of paces away and stood there to keep watch. Jean-Luc reached the table, yanked at his jacket, and sat in the third chair between them. "Sorry I'm late. I had to take a call."

"I thought as much. We already ordered." Will waved down the waiter, who saw them out the window and came out to take Jean-Luc's order of a sandwich and a glass of water.

"So what are we discussing?" Jean-Luc asked as the young man darted off to get the water.

Will glanced at Tom, who shrugged in his usual comic manner. "Same thing we always talk about. I have this knitting project, and Will wants to start the Starfleet Manicurists Union."

Jean-Luc didn't quite roll his eyes, as he turned to Will with a chagrined smile. Will nodded. "We were talking about Beverly and the possible change in her workload if the current chief of Starfleet Medical actually retires, and she's offered the position."

"It'll mean she ends up living here. Which means I end up here, commuting up to take care of my roses since they aren't portable," Tom said. 

Jean-Luc had a little too much sympathy for that. He looked up as Gary the waiter returned to put a glass in front of him, chirped something about the sandwich coming next, and scampered to the next table. 

"So now we find out why you've called this meeting of the boy's club," Tom said. "Are we throwing a surprise party for someone?"

Jean-Luc actually spent a moment on it. "Don't do that to me. You know there's no birthday or anniversary this month."

"Sorry." Tom grinned, but it went away again. "You're usually quicker than that. Something wrong?"

"I don't know," he said, and turned his head again as Gary the waiter arrived with three plates and juggled them onto the table somehow without dropping anything. He bounced off again and left them to their sandwiches.

Will got his hands around the ham on rye carefully, managing to pick it up without ejecting the contents of the massive sandwich. "Can we help?"

"I don't know that either," Jean-Luc confessed. "It's possible that I'm being paranoid."

Tom, having maneuvered his fingers around his turkey on wheat, put the sandwich down again and gazed across the table at Jean-Luc expectantly.

"Do you think," Jean-Luc began. He winced, thinking again.

Will fully expected this would be about Deanna - they had all witnessed the change. Since the incident at Starfleet Medical, the newly-minted admiral had gone from happy and relieved to be on Earth in their new home with his family to pensive and occasionally peevish. Deanna had apparently recovered enough to go right back to trying to puzzle out what was going on with the remnant of crew of the lost ship _Kivan_ , instead of focusing on teaching and family as she'd originally intended. She'd gone over a couple of times to talk to doctors; Tom still mumbled about it, since Beverly had come home worried about their friend.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have taken the promotion," Jean-Luc said at last.

Tom and Will glanced at each other in surprise. "What?" Will said, for lack of adequate verbal ability -- this wasn't what he'd anticipated.

"It's obvious that -- I'm sorry," Jean-Luc said, sitting back in the chair and putting his hands on his head, looking immensely tired. "I can't talk about specifics. But it's obvious to me that this job I've been given is ridiculous -- impossible. How the hell am I supposed to know how to make decisions from Earth on matters half a quadrant away? If I were there, observing.... And Deanna isn't settling. She can't stop feeling agitated and wanting to do something about what's going on, either."

"Adjusting is a challenge -- hell, it took me a year to stop seeing Asili in the bushes," Tom said sympathetically. "Did you take advantage of the Department of Ailing Admirals?"

Jean-Luc stared at him -- at least it got his attention.

"They have counselors who specifically help officers adjust to leaving ship duty," Tom went on. He shrugged like a kid caught in the cookie jar. "I went -- Verly kicked my ass until I did."

"I have been informed of this by Bell," Will added. "She thinks it would help me stop staring out the window waiting to be called to the bridge."

Jean-Luc sank a little, and they were treated to the unlikely spectacle of Admiral Picard slumping in a chair in front of a café. He was ignoring the waiter now, as the young man approached. Gary wasn't stupid though, he could see there was something intense happening and scooted off again to another table. Behind Jean-Luc, deLio remained on alert. Likely, Will thought, he was the only reason they hadn't been approached. 

Will bit his lip and took a bite of the sandwich. Reached for his glass while he chewed.

"I keep thinking we'll reach this part of life where it gets easier," Jean-Luc said quietly, shaking his head. "The kids are doing well enough, but I'm still holding my breath waiting for one of them to bring home the next challenge."

"Post traumatic stress disorder is still alive and well," Tom commented around a mouthful. He waved a finger at Jean-Luc. "Poster boy."

Will tried not to laugh. It was hard to chew, not-laugh, and keep a straight face.

"Why did I think this was a good idea? Clearly I need to rethink this."

"Do you think Deanna would go back into space with you?" Will asked.

Tom hid his reaction in eating with determination. That probably meant he didn't approve. Jean-Luc did a double-take. "Even if I could, that doesn't sound like a good idea to me."

"You aren't happy sitting here on Earth. You were worn out on the idea of -- " Will stopped himself -- it was a certainty that Jean-Luc knew how much he didn't want to watch Deanna keep hurting herself in the line of duty. "Is there really any compromise to be had?"

"Not that I've found. Do you have some inspiration?"

Will smirked and put down the half-eaten sandwich half. "I was hoping you had some for me, remember?"

"We're in real trouble then. We'll have to ask Tom."

They smiled at the former Captain Glendenning, and Tom started to laugh. "Eat your sandwich, and we'll go find that bottle of scotch I hid last year for this occasion."

"That sounds like Captain Glendenning, all right. Maybe not all is lost?" Will said. 

"How is Bell?" Jean-Luc asked, and the conversation turned to banalities. Which was fine. Will found more and more that ordinary life could be reassuring. They talked about the usual things, made plans to take everyone to the park on the upcoming weekend. And Jean-Luc talked around the things that were classified, because he knew well enough that they understood just the same. 

"I should get back," the admiral said eventually, after the empty plates had been taken and they'd finished their beverages. 

"See you Saturday," Will said. 

Jean-Luc left the same way he'd come, walking up the nearly-empty street toward Command. Will turned to Tom. 

"Poor guy. Doesn't know how to help his swan." Tom made a face, glanced around at the thinning group of cafe patrons, and snorted. "But I guess that's us too."

"At least we're in it together," Will said. "Have any advice for me?"

"Retire slowly, the sudden complete stop is hell," Tom said with unexpected sobriety. His blue eyes were on their friend, still visible going down the street. "It looks like he feels like he's stuck, and he isn't even retiring yet."

"How long has it taken you to adjust?" Will asked.

Tom gave him a look that suggested it wasn't done yet. Tired, sad, a little regretful. But he shrugged and got to his feet. "I'll let you know. And if Beverly asks, it was last year. I'll see you Saturday, with the kids and the horses and all. I may have talked Lora into showing up."

Will stood for a bit watching the tall man stroll away in the opposite direction -- there was a public transporter two blocks down, no doubt he'd be on his doorstep in Oregon within ten minutes, heading out to pick roses for Beverly when she got home in a few hours. Tom's blond hair was shot through with gray now. In unguarded moments, if one happened to look Tom's way, one might catch him looking... not happy. Will could sympathize. 

He turned for home, heading the same direction as Jean-Luc but turning a corner before reaching Starfleet Command, wending his way home on foot. Thinking and walking helped. He reached his rented home at the same time as the flitter dropping off Marcus and John. The boys were wearing their school uniforms, a navy blue unitard with red cuffs for Marcus and green for John -- different grades were represented by different colors. John had deemed the uniform to be stupid-looking, and Will had agreed, but a uniform was required whether you liked it or not. 

The boys waved at the driver, the father of one of Marcus' friends, and came up the walk to join Will at the door. "How was school?" Will asked, as he ran his palm over the panel to let them all in.

"Fine," John grumbled. 

"I had a test -- I only missed two math problems," Marcus exclaimed. "And Neil is having a party this weekend, can I go?"

John went off to his room, his feet heavier than they needed to be on the hardwood flooring, and Will glanced after his older son wearily, then put a hand on Marcus' shoulder. "The Picards invited us all to the park, to go riding and have a picnic lunch. But if you'd rather go to Neil's, I can let them know you had a prior obligation."

Marcus was usually a happy kid, never let anything phase him, but his brow wrinkled as he looked up at Will. "Is Captain Picard your best friend?"

He almost launched into a full explanation including the correction of rank, but he'd come a long way from the days of distracting himself with trivia. "I have a few best friends. He's one of them. I wish you'd been able to spend more time with him before now."

"Are we staying here or getting another ship?"

Will turned to go through the dining room to the kitchen. Bell had wanted a full kitchen with a stove, not just the replicator, and there was a stasis unit for the food on hand. He took out bread and the makings of a sandwich. "We're thinking about that one. Want a snack? Your mom will be home late tonight."

"Can I have ham? If we get a ship, I want a Galaxy class." 

Will grinned. Life was so easy, at six. "If they have a spare one around. Not many of those left." He set out the ingredients for a typical Riker style sandwich and watched Marcus make his own -- he was just tall enough to manage it on the counter. "Do you like living here? I know you like school here better."

Marcus shrugged and licked a little mustard from the back of his hand. "I think it's okay. Do you like having a house? It's bigger than our quarters were."

"It's nice to have sunshine in the windows like it was when I was growing up." 

Marcus picked up his sandwich and took a big bite, smearing a little mustard on his upper lip. "John wants to be on a ship. I like it here."

"You have homework?"

"I'm supposed to read another chapter in that dumb book." He didn't like reading as much as he did math or science. The 'dumb book' was one of Will's favorites, a Jack London novel.

"If you finish it you can play one of your games."

Marcus beamed around another bite of his sandwich. Will got him a glass of juice, and left him seated at the dining room table to go check in with John. 

The older of his sons was already sprawled on his bed, watching something on a padd with a smirk on his face. When he saw Will in the door he flicked his thumb across the padd and dropped it, and gazed up at Will with lazy blue eyes. 

"We've been postponing the trip to the park to go riding, but it's on for Saturday -- you still interested?" Will asked, trying not to infuse the question with too much expectation. 

"I guess." 

As sullen as it was, at least John's response wasn't angry, as it often was. Will almost wanted to take it as an opening to begin serious discussion, but opted instead to accept and move along. He smiled, remembering when John was Marcus' age. The boys both favored their mother, with her blue eyes and blond hair, but she'd commented often that they were more like their father in temperament.

"What?" John asked, frowning a little.

"I was just thinking about you when you were Marcus' age. Remember that time when you came with me for a while, and we had that epic pillow fight?"

John snorted. "Yeah. I chased you down the corridor."

"And Lieutenant Borjas saw us, got her own pillow, and joined in."

John actually grinned. "That was fun -- we had a bunch of people running around our deck."

Will leaned against the side of the door. "It's a good thing your mom wasn't there."

"She would've won," John said, laughing.

"What're you laughing about?" Marcus said, coming in to lean on Will as he stood in the door.

"I don't think Marcus has ever been in a pillow fight," Will said, glancing slyly at John.

John reached over his head with both hands, swung a pillow, threw it -- and they were off. Marcus tried to dodge and got hit with the pillow on the back of the head, laughing, grabbing at it and racing in to return it in kind, and Will followed. They used the two pillows and a large stuffed animal that had been languishing on a shelf, one of John's very old toys from a time when he was small and easy to engage with. They rough-housed around John's room, ran from Marcus through to the large living room and used the long sofas for cover, lobbed cushions from the chairs and sofas in self defense. By the end of it they were collapsed on the green area rug in the middle of the room, surrounded by pillows and cushions. Will had a sore nose and elbow and John was rolling around, holding his knee but laughing breathlessly in a way he hadn't done in more than a year.

Will felt a pang of sadness, and a little more hope than before, and while he patted Marcus on the back and sat up to survey the scene, he decided to go with instinct. "I bet there's a good recipe for a milkshake in that replicator."

"Yeah, chocolate," Marcus cried, accidentally punching Will in the gut as he launched to run for the kitchen. 

"I'm thinking mint chocolate chip," Will called out, rolling to get to his feet. His body warned him that such movement was not approved of, especially as he had slacked off his fitness regimen since coming to Earth. He staggered after Marcus, exaggerating his clumsiness for comic effect. 

By the time Bell got home, the house was a flaming mess. Milkshake dregs in empty glasses on the coffee table in front of the viewscreen, game controllers and pillows all over the floor. The living room hadn't been restored to order. There were some things knocked over here and there -- John's rifle set would shoot soft pellets, but still knock over vases or dislodge picture frames. Will heard her calling out for him from the kitchen, where he was drinking some water -- the boys were in the yard yelling and chasing each other with the toy rifles still. Bell gazed at him questioningly, and wanted an answer for the mess she'd just walked through.

"The doc said we should try to engage him more -- if a pillow fight works, I figured it was something," Will said. 

Bell smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. "Are you all right? You look like you've been battling someone hand to hand."

"I'm sure, because I have been. But it's all right." He turned to put down the glass, and winced as he extended his arm. "Sore elbow. I banged it on something."

"Let's go have a look." She turned, and he followed her through the house to the bathroom, where she stored the med kit she kept at home. He leaned against the shining black counter and let her run the tricorder, then apply a regenerator. 

"Thanks," he said, stretching and flexing his arm. "Good day at the clinic?"

"Busier than usual. We had a lot of new mothers bringing in children." Bell closed the small case and dropped it back in a drawer. "So he was actually playing freely with you?"

"I know -- first time in a long time. I got to thinking about one of the times he was with me, on the ship, while we were living apart. We had this crazy pillow fight, it lasted a while... I guess when I mentioned it he channeled that experience. Are they still out shooting at each other?"

"It must have been a really good memory, to get him playing with Marcus that way," Bell said. "It was such a relief to see him doing that, when I got home."

"Worth having to clean up the house we threw into chaos?"

Bell led the way out into the front of the house. The boys were inside again, and out of breath. Red-faced, still laughing a little, and heading for the kitchen. John grinned at them. "Hi, Mom," he exclaimed. 

"What have you been up to here?" she said, but in a good-natured tone that suggested she approved. 

"Dad started it," Marcus called out, running back to stand in the kitchen door.

Will held up his hands in surrender. "Guilty as charged." 

Bell put her hands on her hips and turned in a circle, as if counting the cushions and pillows and stuff animals. "Quite a body count. Who won?"

"Does anyone ever win a pillow fight?" John exclaimed. Marcus, grinning like an imp, snatched up a cushion as he ran across the room, swung it round, and threw it at John, who caught it and threw it to Will. He chewed on his lip for a minute as if seriously considering his options, and gently swung the pillow to bop the back of Bell's head. He dropped it as if it were a snake about to bite and leaped back a few feet -- both boys immediately did the same, Marcus stifling a giggle and looking up at his mother with wide eyes. 

Bell stood frozen in place, staring at Will -- then swept down to grab a couch cushion and lunged.

"Run!" Will shouted. The boys fled, shrieking as if the entire Romulan Empire was on their heels. Will followed and after a few steps he stopped, gestured out the door after their sons. "You're breaking the rules of the pillow fight."

"What rules?" Bell said.

Will waved a hand emphatically. "One rule - no one quits until everyone's tired."

Bell swung the cushion and he dodged, ran after the boys, and heard her giggling as she came after him. "Guys, better hide good, she's after us," he shouted. Somewhere in the house a door slammed. He dodged into Marcus' room and found it apparently empty. Bell ran on by, glancing in at him and smiling, on her way to find the kids.

Will glanced around the litter of toys on the floor, shuffling out of the line of sight of the door, and backed up against the closet door, which was slightly ajar. He heard a muffled snort from inside the closet and a shushing noise. Slowly, quietly, he reached down to get a large stuffed rabbit. When he yanked the door open Marcus shrieked. The rabbit got both of them and Will raced out while John shouted happily.

He reached the living room again, to find Bell had made the circuit around the house and cut him off, and so he dove into the cushions and pillows and then everyone was piling more on him. He laughed, made half-hearted attempts to defend himself, and eventually they joined him on the floor where they all gasped for air together. For a few moments they rested together.

"So I'm new to this," Bell said. "What's the traditional post-pillow fight thing to do?"

"Fudge sundae," Marcus shouted.

"With marshmallows," John added, jumping to his feet.

"I guess we're eating dessert first," Bell said, using the edge of the couch to stand up.

Will noticed John watching him, probably wondering if he might reveal that they'd had milkshakes. Putting a finger to his lips, Will turned to follow Bell into the kitchen. "Why don't you two pick all this up? Reset the game."

Surprisingly they did so -- when Will got to the kitchen Bell was holding one of the empty milkshake glasses. She eyed him.

"Choose our battles?" he murmured.

She dropped two of the glasses in the recycle slot. "I suppose ice cream for dinner once a year never killed anyone."

"I've been saying that since we got married."

Bell scowled at him.. "Will."

"Well, so I haven't, but I can start. It's never too late to change, right?"


	14. Buck up, Buckaroo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was out in the wilderness last week, going out again tomorrow. See you mid-July with a longer chapter.

This was so completely pointless.

John Riker stared at the people his father and mother called friends. The Picard kids were over at the fence, petting horses. Lora, who he didn't even know at all, was standing with her father and Dr. Crusher, who were talking to Deanna. Admiral Picard was off making arrangements or something so they could all ride horses. John's father had taken Marcus to find a restroom and left him standing in the scant shade under the eaves of the big gray barn.

"I'm not sure I want to do this," Lora told her father. She kicked the end of a water trough. The water in the metal trough looked scummy.

That summed up John's feelings on most things, actually. He glanced right as he caught movement out of the tail of his eye - the stable guy was coming out of the barn with another saddle. He waddled over and pitched it up on the top rail of the wood fence. Cordelia said something in her eternally-cheerful, chirpy way, and the guy laughed and invited her to come back into the tack room and help him by carrying bridles. Jean-Pierre went with her.

Huffing, blowing away a few flies trying to get in his mouth, John leaned against the corner of the barn and wished they'd never left the ship. It had been so much better there. Cleaner. There were no schools full of kids who didn't care about him, or wanted to take advantage of him, or get him to do things for them. Just a small room with a few kids was the way he liked it.

He heard the last few steps of boots on the graveled yard, and turned -- the admiral was approaching him for some reason. Admiral Picard wore some tight black pants, tall black boots, and a white shirt under a black jacket. Some sort of costume? The old man studied him with an unreadable expression. John half expected some version of a concerned question. He was sick of being asked if everything was all right.

"It's a bit warm today," the admiral said. "Have you picked a horse yet?"

John shrugged. "I'll just let the guy pick one for me."

Picard smiled at that, but not in an obnoxious way - he didn't seem to be laughing at him. "You know... I wonder if you could help me."

That wasn't the usual thing adults tended to say to him. He frowned in confusion. He'd been told all his life about the man he'd been named after; when he was younger he'd thought it made him special. As he got older and occasionally met the old man his father admired so much, he wondered what the big deal really was. His father's excitement about being on Earth and the opportunity to spend more time with Picard was another irritation in a long list of them.

"With what?" he asked after Picard didn't go on.

 "I've been putting together my library. You could help me get everything in order."

John glanced at Yves and Amy. The two of them were petting a shining chestnut tied to the fence, while the stable guy put a pad on the horse's back.

"I'd ask Yves, but he's working for Tom, in between homework and spending time with his friends. Everyone is busier than I am," Picard said.

John shrugged, before he could catch himself. He didn't want to do it, but he knew it would make his father happy. It would also be a way of getting out of the house. He was starting to feel like he'd been put in prison. His parents wouldn't let him go anywhere any more without one of them. "Sure. When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, if your parents agree. Let's go get you a horse. I like the look of that bay over there."

John let himself be guided over, and an hour later, after listening and refraining from rolling his eyes too much to the stable guy's lecture on how to start, steer and stop a horse, he found himself sitting in a saddle, holding reins, and waiting while everyone else got ready to go. He watched his father, who was laughing at his own ineptitude. Riding hadn't been his 'thing,' he told Russ, the stable guy.

At long last everyone was mounted on a horse. All the horses stood in a row waiting. He sat on the bay gelding between his mother and brother, until the group started off -- at the far end of the line, the admiral set out on a big gray mare, and his family were quick to fall in line behind him as they trotted down the lane toward an open gate. Tom Glendenning walked his tall red horse after them, with the doctor and Lora beside and behind him. And then John's father nudged his black horse toward the lane, and Marcus slapped his heels against the red and white pinto's belly. The pinto bounced a few steps and settled into a steady walk, in line with the others.

John tapped his heels against his horse's sides, then in frustration he kicked it. The gelding went from standing to a jolting lope in seconds, flinging its head up, and the reins flopped all over while John hung on to the saddle and tried to stay on. The horse passed several others, and then his fingers gave, and John found himself in midair, yelling, and then tumbling across the ground.

When he came to, the adults were all there, and Yves. "Is he okay?" Yves asked. Dr. Crusher was feeling down his arm, and then his leg. When she gripped his knee he shrieked -- pain shot up his leg.

"Better call for transport to Starfleet Medical," she said. "I think it's broken."

"Oh no," John's mother muttered. She looked upset, even crying a little.

John tried not to cry -- covered his face with his arm, every muscle in his body taut and quivering. Why the hell hadn't he just insisted on staying home?

Marcus was crying now too, and trying to reassure him. There was a shifting -- people were talking, and John's father was telling the admiral the rest of them should go on without them, it was just a broken leg.

Just a broken leg? The thing hurt like hell! John smacked at Marcus' hands. "Stop," he blurted.

"Marcus, come here, it's okay."

"Mo-om," John said. It sounded like whining. That made him angrier.

But his mother came, and held him. "You know your brother just wanted to help. We'll take care of this, it'll be better when we get to Starfleet Medical. The osteoregenerator will fix this in a hurry."

John closed his eyes and tried to block out the chatter of the twins, and Amy, and everyone else. It was a relief when the transporter finally deposited them on a transporter pad and a medical team arrived to ask what happened, and within minutes they had him on a gurney and whisked him away. Mom came with him, while his father waited with Marcus.

It took too long for them to get it going, and then one of them applied a hypospray and he was out. When they woke him, the pain was completely gone. He sat up, realizing they'd taken off his clothes and put him in a sickbay gown. A smiling blond man stood there at his side with his mother, and John knew right away things were all right. She was smiling again.

"Thank you, Dr. Milne. I'll be out in a minute." Mom watched the doctor go, and came to hug John. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better. Do broken bones always hurt that much?"

"Probably. Are you ready to put on your clothes? They're right here. Though they're dirty," she said, wrinkling her nose as she picked up the shirt. "I can go replicate something else."

"Do we have to go back and try again? I really want to go home," he said, regretting it almost at once.

Mom studied him seriously, crossing her arms. "I know it's been really hard, being on Earth. We've all had to make some major adjustments being here. But I wonder if it's been hardest for you."

John didn't know what to say. He looked at his clothes piled on a chair next to the biobed, at the screens over his head, down at his bare leg that didn't have so much as a bruise on it.

"It was nice to see you laughing again the other day, when I came home and you were all having that pillow fight," she said. She reached for him, kissing his forehead. Instead of wincing he accepted it and leaned, until his head was on her shoulder.

They sat that way for a few minutes. He started to feel awkward, and sat up suddenly, embarrassed. "I'll just wear these," he said, trying not to be as difficult. "Can we go now?"

"Sure. I'll be right outside the door." She smiled, in that happy, warm way she hadn't had in a while, and turned to go. At least she hadn't stood there long enough to see how that made him tear up a little.

John tentatively slid to the floor, and put weight on the leg. No pain. He started to get dressed.

His dad and brother had joined Mom in the corridor outside, he saw, as he left the room. Dad put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. Instead of flinching away, he hugged him briefly. "Sorry I ruined it," he muttered, though he was just fine if he never saw another horse.

"It was an accident," Marcus said. "We can always go back."

"Not today. Let's go home," Dad said, turning down the corridor.


	15. Two Deviations from the Mean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said a longer chapter, but it's been a hell of a busy week. And I kept losing text, since the computer decided to randomly close windows.

The house was quiet when Jean-Luc opened his eyes. He heard only a few birds outside the closed window over the headboard, and Deanna's soft snore. 

Between yesterday's drama over John hurting himself falling off the horse, discussion with Deanna over what to do about Annika, and then another call from Bettencourt requesting his inclusion on a subspace conversation with an admiral stationed at Deep Space Nine, he thought they deserved a day off from other people's problems. He closed his eyes again. Without waking, Deanna wriggled closer, bumping into him gently and sighing. He draped an arm over her and settled with his face in her hair.

When he awakened again, she'd turned over to face him and had her hand down his shorts. He gave a startled huff, reached for her, and she responded by climbing aboard and settling into his arms for a kiss. After a few minutes of kissing him she moved again, inching down to pull at his shorts and take him in hand once again.

There were no words spoken; by now it was almost automatic to sink into hajira and let their emotions flow freely together, letting their bodies respond as they would. All one of them needed to do was to think about or want the other to touch or to do, and it would be done. He liked that, as it was more immediately gratifying and needed no trial and error. Generally at the end both of them would be sated and happy if not interrupted.

The instant he started to sit up, she moved away and rolled on her back. Before she was completely settled he was pulling up her short silk nightgown. While he did that, she shoved his shorts down with her toes. He almost laughed at the rushed yet coordinated effort to get busy before someone whacked on the door or started yelling.

She knew, because the generator that provided the dampening field that kept four budding empaths from sensing what they were doing did little to suppress her own stronger sense of her children, that none of them were awake yet. Still, he felt a sense of urgency -- the way things had been going, surely something would interrupt. She laughed at penetration and kissed him fervently, until they were moving together so urgently that was no longer possible. She tried to be mindful of noise but got caught up in the passion. She brought up her knees, laughing again, as he went about the business of plunging in and out of her enthusiastically. The only issue with such an approach was that it brought him more rapidly to orgasm, and then he was chuckling while his hand crept down her hip and he rolled, pulling her over to sprawl across him while he played with her.

"We should find somewhere for the kids to be next weekend so we can have the house to ourselves," she said. "We could take our time."

He left off the attempt to stimulate her further, his hand coming to rest on her sticky thigh. "That can be arranged. The twins might be interested in going to see Data again."

She sighed, rested her chin on his shoulder, then turned her head to put her cheek on his chest. The children were still asleep. She loved him, traced her fingertips in idle circles around his left nipple, and thought about the past.

"It's been quite an experience," he said softly. She was sharing with him her memory of experiences from their first months together, prior to marriage, prior to children, when they had been so uncertain about the future and each other.

"I never imagined this. I've changed more than I ever thought I could."

Jean-Luc smiled at the thought of Counselor Troi, and then thought about the woman he had met at McKinley, after bringing the _Enterprise_ home to Earth for the last time. Captain Troi. "You're incredible."

She felt simultaneously surprised and flattered, and also embarrassed. "I am so happy with my life -- I don't want you to think that anything needs to change. There are a few things I'd like to fix, but those are easy for me to do. I want to finish the semester at the Academy, but I hope to move on to other things," she said.

"Other things?"

Deanna rolled away to sit up in bed, and he shoved himself up to lean on the headboard with her. She shoved her hair back from her face though it wasn't going to stay there. It had escaped the usual braid and frizzed into an unruly mass. "I think I want to take some time off from Starfleet."

This wasn't what he expected, but he accepted it. He didn't ask about Pembroke, or Starfleet Medical, but she picked up on the thought just the same.

"I determined that I can't help him," she murmured. "I won't be making that attempt."

"Good," he blurted. "I would expect they will find another way to help him back to health."

She wasn't entirely happy with the decision but he could tell she had accepted the necessity of it. "I told them that I would be more selective, that I don't want to be called upon to engage in the procedure unless there were no other way to help the person."

He exhaled and let his head rest against the wood -- that was a bigger relief than he'd anticipated.

"Do you remember Lieutenant Bridges?" she asked, taking his hand.

"No."

"He came aboard for a while a few weeks after we began having sex. He kept trying to approach me until you put your foot down."

It took a minute, but he remembered -- not what the man had looked like, but the situation, and the frustration he'd felt. "The one you wanted to punch."

Deanna chuckled about that. "Oh, that was not what I wanted at all. I was much more patient then. Telling him to stop, yes. I saw him last week at Starfleet Medical."

"What?"

"He did indeed go on to better things. Commander Bridges was on the _Hercules_ , and is now waiting for a new assignment. He came in for the annual physical that he would have had if his ship had not been destroyed."

Jean-Luc laughed out of surprise more than anything else. "Well, good for him."

"So many of our officers went on to promotions. So many people in Starfleet were aboard our vessel." She was looking at him with a proud smile. "Bridges told me to thank you."

"Well, then."

"Gregory will be here tomorrow," she said. "And I also heard from Lana'hai."

"Has everyone we've ever worked with tried to contact you?" he exclaimed, starting to imagine the reunion. "Do we need a bigger facility?"

"No. I'm simply sharing with you what I am starting to see as our real accomplishment. Hundreds of people learned so much from you."

"Are any of these people at all appreciative of you?" He could think of plenty of young officers who should have been.

Deanna swung her legs out of bed, pulling off the silk nightshirt he'd rumpled and wrinkled so thoroughly, and stalked off for the bathroom. "The kids are waking up and the generator is about to go off."

"The kids might be up but I reset the timer for weekends, to turn off later."

She returned a few minutes later, with a hairbrush and starting to work on her hair. He gestured, and she sat facing away from him on the bed. Before she'd cut her hair to shoulder length, he had had an agreement with her to help her care for her hair, if she grew it out long; challenging her to grow it out again would mean the same arrangement, no doubt. But he enjoyed whatever they did together, and he'd become quite good at braiding her hair.

When they finally emerged from their room, dressed casually and with her hair in a short, neat French braid, the kids were all at the dining room table with food. They went silent and watched their mother sit down, and Jean-Luc reversed course to the kitchen long enough to replicate coffee for both of them, and a small selection of baked goods.

Amy and Yves exchanged a smile as he sat down at the head of the table. Cordelia smiled at them happily. "Good morning! Did you sleep well?"

"We did, thank you," Deanna said, reaching for a croissant.

"Are we doing anything today?" Amy asked. Her usual prelude to asking if Neema or one of her other friends, or all of them, could come over.

"If your weekly tasks are completed, you can go to see a friend. Or you can come with us to the pier for a long walk on the shoreline," he said, knowing there were a few stores on one of the piers that the kids enjoyed. Pierre had developed a fascinating for kites of unusual design. Cordelia loved the shop with hundreds of wind chimes.

Amy nodded. "Can you drop me at Neema's on the way?"

"I'll go," Yves said. He rose from his chair, picking up his empty bowl.

"Me too," Pierre said. "Can we take Fidele?"

In the end, they all went. Amy changed her mind. Jean-Luc wondered if it had something to do with his change of mood. He felt buoyant -- hopeful, happy, looking forward to finding out what would happen next. His curiosity about what fantastic things she might do instead of Starfleet coupled with knowing she would no longer risk her health trying to heal others had done the trick.

She looked just as happy, when she looked at him -- they rode away from the house with the kids in the flitter, smiling at each other. The kids were all in a good mood. Amy and Cordelia chatted about things they had seen in the stores the last time they'd gone with Deanna, and wanting new dresses.

It was enough to make Jean-Luc forget about his job for the day. Enough to make him set aside thoughts of the meeting he was to attend in the morning. Until late in the evening, after the dinner dishes were cleared and the kids were off to get ready for bed. Fidele had as usual taken pictures as they went through the day, so he sat down in the dining room with the dog to view them on the large digital frame and select the ones to store for display. After adding four more pictures, he sent the dog to spend the night as he usually did, in Yves' room.

And the sequence of images started from the beginning, chronologically, and he got caught up watching them go by in five second intervals. There were a lot of images now. Somewhere around the wedding photos, Deanna came out in one of her soft robes and after a moment of realizing what was keeping him, sat down with him on the other side of the table to watch.

"I wonder if you have that dress," he said after the last of the wedding pictures faded away, to be replaced by one of her early in her first pregnancy.

"I do not. Are you going to ask me to replicate it?"

He sat up slightly, looking down his nose at her. "You would look wonderful in that dress."

She had that sarcastic tilt to her smile. "Jean, _you_ would look good in that dress."

"Oh, no, it definitely would not -- you were beautiful in it."

She snorted ungracefully. "Want to test that theory?"

"Dee...."

"I will only wear that dress again if you try it on as well."

It was his turn to wrinkle his brow and smirk. But she wasn't sharing her emotions as freely as before, and what he could sense from her seemed similar to how she'd been, when he'd caught her scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror.

He turned back to find the frame had reached Yves' birth, and they stared up at the image of tired, younger Deanna holding a baby. This was, he recalled, that period when she had also been approached by Section 31. There was significant stress in her eyes, though she smiled for the picture.

He had watched his wife endure injury after injury, over the years. They hadn't included images of the most horrible times, which led to gaps in the sequence -- and then there were instances like this one, where the strain was there for him to see in spite of the happy moment they were trying to capture. His injuries, his difficulties, had also worn on her. There had been long spans of months when life had been more or less routine, with cadets to train and diplomatic endeavors, exploratory missions.... But when it had been bad, he'd thought about quitting. Thought about ending the torture in the name of Starfleet, but she had been steadfast and held the course when he'd started to doubt and they had made it through everything.

"I'm tired," she said at last, as the images reached Amy's birth. "I'm going to get ready for bed."

"I'll be in after I get some water," he said, watching her head in through the kitchen and disappear around the corner. Three more images, of the brief vacation on a Betazoid colony -- the Rikers had been with them. That, too, had been a stressful time. The only child they'd had naturally -- Yves had been transported out, as the ship had been in the middle of a crisis. The twins had been transferred into an incubator, as she'd been unable to carry them to term due to complications from injuries received in the line of duty. That had been even harder for her to bear.

"Computer, turn off the frame."

The kitchen light came up to half intensity as he stepped through the door, and he paused, the tile floor cold on his bare feet. He sighed, wishing he hadn't paid any attention to the images in the frame. His earlier good mood had been tainted with the memory of heartache.

He decided then that desperate times required desperate measures.

When he swept into the bedroom, the light was still on. She looked up from the padd she held and gaped at him as he approached, holding out the dress he'd replicated for her. He dropped it on the green bedspread.

"Jean-Luc," she murmured, amazed. And did a slight double-take. "Are you... wearing anything under that?"

"Come on, let's see it," he ordered. "Get up."

She smiled, her eyes traveling downward, and set aside the padd as she slid out of bed. "I was wrong. It looks -- "

"Ridiculous. But not on you."

Instead of putting hers on, she started to pull the one he was wearing upward, over his shoulders and head, letting the flimsy translucent material drift to the floor behind him. She sighed and put her arms around him. "So much better."

"Yes, I'd much rather be naked. You said you would put it on."

To his dismay, when she stepped back she had tears on her face. But the accompanying smile was somewhat reassuring. "I love you. Silly man." She crossed her arms in front of herself, took hold of the edge of the pink silk nightshirt, and drew it off over her head, freeing her breasts and slightly frizzing her hair as the static from the silk transferred to it. She picked up the off-white muslin dress and pulled it on, adjusting it slightly with little tugs at the blousy front and the gathered waistline.

It was true that she wasn't so slender as she'd been the first time she'd worn it. But it did suit her, not so well as some of her other dresses but as well as it had when they had married. He smiled, as she stood there with her hands on her hips and let him stare at her.

"Perfect," he said, meaning it wholeheartedly. Perfect for him.

She looked down at herself, and tilted her head. "Jean."

"Thank you for indulging my whim. Thank you -- "

Her eyes came up as she caught the surge of emotion. He stepped over to hug her tightly, getting a faceful of hair for his trouble and not caring. She put her arms around him in return, and seemed confused.

"You were so happy today," she murmured, questioning.

"Yes."

It took a few minutes to calm down, and he spent another span of heartbeats thinking about her in uniform with her four pips, smiling at him. Finally he let go and joined her in bed. She took off the dress and draped it over the headboard.

"Maybe I should start wearing it for breakfast in the morning," she commented, sliding back under the covers naked. "If it makes you happy."

"I wouldn't complain about that."

She studied him anew, as she moved the padd to the nightstand and settled back with her head on the pillow. "Are you all right?"

"Absolutely."

Deanna's heavy sigh said she knew there was still turmoil, but she let it pass. "Are you going to wake me nicely again in the morning?"

Now, that was a very nice thought. "If possible. Perhaps we should set an early alarm?"

"Not too early."

"Yes, ma'am."


	16. Best Laid Plans

"What happened in there?"

Jean-Luc turned from his window to look at Mallory -- Bettencourt's meeting had run long, and had been enough to make him regret the promotion. And Sam Mallory, sitting next to him throughout, had clearly noticed the tension and followed him out of the room at the end, down the corridor and into his office. Sam's silver hair stood up like a mop but he otherwise was like all the other admirals, in the severe black uniform with a thin collar in red above the bars.

"We're losing vessels for no reason," Jean-Luc exclaimed.

Sam actually smiled. The older man reminded him of Jellico -- balding, less fit than he'd likely been in years past. He was actually Jean-Luc's neighbor; his office was next door. His general demeanor was one of joviality but as he'd been supervising tactical operations in sectors along the Romulan Neutral Zone for years, and now focused on the area around Cardassian space, there had to be more to him than the smile.

'You're having a tough time coming down to Earth," Sam said.

"I'm having a tough time understanding what the rationale for sending starships into an area where there are known conflicts between species we have no alliance with, without clear instructions," Jean-Luc snapped. "Surely you remember being given information prior to being sent to intervene? Even if only to inform you that there was no clear picture, and to be on your guard at all times? We are relying on transwarp too often. Things happen too fast for even transwarp to be effective."

Sam was a little more sober in the face of this. "You don't believe the captains of the  _Nantucket_ or the  _Endeavor_ can handle the situation?"

"Captain Pembroke is still in a coma, and what's left of his crew gave us information that tells me there are telepathic aliens at work. I informed all of you -- Carmichael said nothing. Bettencourt said nothing. Captain Jarvis is not aware that the Sisnok are capable of doing more harm from afar than any Federation species."

"Jean-Luc," Sam began. The computer sounded the double tone of the annunciator, and the other admiral glanced at the closed door. "I'll be in my office if you want to discuss this further. Sounds like you have company."

Jean-Luc watched him go, and after he sidled out the door, to his surprise, Deanna came in. He'd expected Bettencourt or one of the other admirals, or the adjutant. For the meetings she made a point of blocking him, so she was not intruding while he was handling classified information, so he hadn't been aware of her presence in the building. She was in uniform, her hair braided and pinned neatly on the crown of her head, and she came to him looking for all the world like his old first officer with an extra pip -- serious and quite composed.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?" he said, smiling. 

It elicited a slight smile -- the formal, fond expression of the former first officer of the  _Enterprise_. "This isn't an official visit. I finished my morning class and thought I would come have lunch with my husband."

It occurred to him that she'd arrived without his being notified. "Have they given you the clearance I asked Bettencourt about?"

"The notice was in my messages this morning. Why?"

"I need to talk to you about this. They aren't listening to me!"

She blinked. After a moment of stunned consideration, she turned to cross the office to the replicator in the far corner. Returning with a bowl of salad, she sat down in one of the chairs across the desk, which prompted him to go sit behind it. His office was impressive - gleaming black surfaces and more spacious than the ready room. She took a bite of her lunch, and looked at him calmly.

He sighed.

"You were feeling angry, just moments before I came in -- how is it that you're suddenly so calm?"

"Suddenly you're here, and I don't feel so desperately alone with this problem. I can't get them to understand what it is they're dealing with -- they tell me they know, because they have reports from us, from other captains, but they don't seem to understand what's really going on. And I don't have anyone to discuss this openly with, since if I try they tell me I'm not adjusting well to the new position."

She gave him one of her more genuine smiles, for that. "You don't have a senior staff to discuss matters with, and the other admirals were once captains who would elicit feedback but not engage inferiors in real discussions. So in a way, they are correct. You aren't adjusting to having no staff."

"They aren't -- " 

"Get something to eat," she interrupted, waving toward the replicator. "Admiral. So you won't collapse in mid-sentence."

By the time he returned with his own salad, the annunciator was sounding off. "Almost as though we never left the ship. Come in," he called out. He didn't get a chance to sit down and Deanna stood up, as Admiral Bettencourt entered the room.

"My apologies for interrupting your meal," the Vulcan admiral said, glancing at Deanna. "I wanted to ask after your wife's health, but I am happy to see that I can do so directly."

"I am between classes at the moment. I came to talk to him about coming to speak to some of my students," she said. "Good afternoon, Admiral."

"At ease, if you will. I am pleased to see you have returned to duty. I would like to discuss with you the possibility of joining us in Tactical Operations."

Deanna was stunned by the suggestion from her. "In what capacity?"

"Please have a seat, Admiral," Jean-Luc said. He gestured at one of the four chairs arranged in a semi-circle; Deanna occupied the third one.

Soriah took the chair nearest to her, and they all sat down again. Deanna set her bowl on the edge of the desk and folded her hands in her lap, waiting expectantly.

"I do not know if your husband has told you about the situation in Sector 482," the admiral began. 

"He has not told me. But I understand his concerns. I know about Captain Pembroke and his crew, since I attempted to help them," Deanna said. "I know that the Sisnok are becoming more active once more, attempting to make a play for power in that region of the Beta Quadrant."

"I had been told of your ability to heal brain trauma," Soriah said. "A rarity, in telepathic species." 

"It comes with a cost," Jean-Luc said. "And of course it is but one of her many talents."

Soriah studied him with her dark eyes, her calm expression, and he wondered -- not for the first time -- what she was thinking.

"My husband knows how difficult it is to recover from the process of healing someone that way. And the last effort I made with Pembroke resulted in my own brain damage. I believe it was a deliberate attempt to harm me, by the Sisnok." Deanna paused, and Jean-Luc wondered if she might be reading Soriah somehow -- she had said before the Vulcans tended to be well defended, with mental shielding. "I was not aware there were available positions in tactical operations."

"Now that you have sufficient clearance, I am able to discuss what I have in mind. Computer, display Project T-47."

The emitters on the desk sprang to life, projecting a small starship above the black surface. It appeared to be a more streamlined version of the Sovereign class. Jean-Luc leaned forward slightly -- this was completely unexpected.

"This is a new class -- you are looking at the first starship designed to be a transwarp vessel, the USS  _Expediter_. The name will likely change at launch. Rather than relying on size and weaponry as a defense, she is intended to be faster than everything else in the quadrant. The  _Expediter_ will be a courier, a reinforcement, a resupplier and a first responder. I would like to have a captain who is well-versed in what the Beta Quadrant has in store for Starfleet. She is not intended for exploration, but as a supplemental vessel, carrying diplomats, medical personnel, replacement crew, even critical parts and resupply for our other starships that are not so nimble and quick. With a top speed of transwarp factor nine, she can be anywhere in the Alpha Quadrant within two days. She is not intended for long tours of duty in the hinterlands of the Federation, but will be based here, on Earth, and deployed on an as-needed basis. And the parameters of what is needed will be clearly defined, so that she is not in constant motion. This is a stopgap measure -- it is not possible to retrofit every ship in the fleet with transwarp. So until new transwarp vessels are built and the older class vessels are retired, we will use the Expediter class to bridge the gap." Soriah watched the hologram spin slowly in place. "At the moment, you are my first choice for our first such starship, Captain."

Jean-Luc found he had been holding his breath -- it was terrible to be excited, and yet afraid. This was something he had hoped for -- Starfleet kept opportunities like this for the exceptional captains, who were a cut above. It was gratifying to see that some of the admirals were paying attention. On the other hand, if she accepted it, she would be flying into danger on a regular basis, probably leaving home for a week or more at a time, and no doubt missions would be frequent and ongoing.

Deanna studied the hologram with a calm that he envied. "I would like to think about it, of course, and discuss it with my family," she said, as if she were offered such opportunities every day.

"The launch is scheduled for two months from today. You will be asked for a decision within the week -- crew choices are of course at the captain's discretion," Soriah said with equal calm. She stood up and nodded to Jean-Luc, to Deanna, and left the room at her usual sedate pace.

Deanna picked up her salad and started to eat again. "You should stop holding your breath, Jean."

"This is an incredible opportunity," he blurted. "They don't simply offer this to anyone."

"I'm aware," she said softly. "And I am very flattered, of course. I will however make the decision based on the best thing for my family, and I haven't thought it through. I know you have mixed feelings about it."

"I do, but you know that my feelings are not what I expect you to base it on. We've been challenged many times, by such impossible things, and you deserve -- "

She glared at him briefly, cutting him off. "Computer, what are the specifications for the Expediter class?"

The pleasant feminine voice listed out the size, crew complement, weaponry, engine specifications, and started to go into detail about the potential cargo capacity and passengers possible, which was where she asked it to stop. Jean-Luc nodded approvingly. The Expediter would be somewhat smaller than the Sovereign class, but clearly designed for different work. 

As they ate in silence she started to open herself to him again, and by the time she stood up to recycle their dishes he understood that she felt the same as he -- excited, but wary. 

"I have another class in an hour," she said. "And I did intend to ask if you were willing to visit, but I want to schedule that for next week so we'll talk about it later. Are you very busy today, or can I be in your mind?"

"You have clearance, as I requested for just this purpose. Be as telepathic as you like." He got up to kiss her good-bye, and let it be a lingering one. She looked him in the eye as she pulled away, and gave him a sly smile as she headed for the door. He thought that the uniform, as form-fitting as it was, looked quite good on her, eliciting the mental equivalent of an eye roll from her. 

The tedium of an admiral was somewhat similar to the tedium of a starship captain. There were more reports to review and logs to listen to, and the focus in Tactical Operations was on the defense of the Federation, so the majority of those that made it to him were about battles, either with identified foes or with new species who reacted aggressively to the initial contact with Starfleet. Analysis and recommendations were his usual response. Contacting the captain to ask questions was a frequent step in the process. 

He made it through a series of log entries and final report of an incident described by Captain Jarvis, one of the officers discussed in the earlier meeting about the series of skirmishes along the Federation borders in Sector 482. It sounded more and more as though the Sisnok had become more organized and deliberate than they had seen them before. 

The quiet alert he'd set in the computer notified him that it was time to go pick up the children, and so he secured his terminal and left the office, giving his part-time adjutant a nod in passing. He rode all the way to the ground floor, and deLio joined him there, following him out to the street and riding with him in the flitter. 

"How are the children doing in school?" he asked, curious as he hadn't heard much about them from Yves. 

deLio was as taciturn as ever. "They inform us that they have been obedient and that their instruction is adequate. Yves has been very helpful in guiding them through challenging social situations. There is a trip coming up to a museum that their instructor has requested a parental presence be in attendance, so two of us are planning to be there."

"Deanna mentioned that. We haven't decided yet which of us will go."

deLio studied him placidly. "You will inform me when you know? I should go as well, if you plan to be there. I will also need to contact the facility in advance."

"We'll let you know," Jean-Luc said, thinking that one through a little more. 

The autopilot pulled them up in front of the school in the line of traffic, but the kids were approaching -- Amy waved as she and Yves wove through the crowd at the curb. Jean-Luc touched the panel and the back door slid open. Yves was the first one in, sliding behind the driver's seat. The four much-smaller L'norim children piled in the back. One of them chirruped and said something in L'norim, another responded, there was some shuffling around and then they all fell quiet. 

"I thought Maman was getting us today," Yves asked, taking the second seat back and leaving the first bench seat for Amy. 

"She's still at the Academy," Jean-Luc said, as he thought about her and she verified that was the case. "Tomorrow's her day."

"My teacher said we're going to the museum in two weeks," Amy announced. 

"So a week after Yves' class," Jean-Luc commented. "I suppose that means the twins will be the week after that, if they're starting with the higher grades."

"Cordie's on her way," Yves put in, before he could ask. "Their class wasn't out yet -- I guess the teacher was upset with someone and kept the whole class later. Pierre's angry so it might have been him."

Lately Jean-Pierre's surliness was reaching new heights. He'd been in trouble once so far for talking back to his teacher. "Well, I haven't gotten a call from anyone. We shall see."

The twins were just a few minutes delayed in getting there and jumping in the back. Jean-Luc shut the door and the flitter, still on autopilot, started to merge back into the flow of traffic away from the school. 

"Papa," Cordelia began, leaning against the back of deLio's seat. "What are we doing next weekend?"

"I do not believe there are any set plans. I had a thought that you might enjoy seeing your Uncle Data again, however. He did say he had found a good place to go camping." Evidently the twins had discussed the possibility of going camping with the android; it was certainly not something that Deanna wanted to repeat, so if they were going to go, friends of the family would be their opportunity.

"I think we should go," Cordelia exclaimed merrily. She plopped back in the seat and turned to her brothers, sitting behind her in the second seat. She obviously knew her sister wouldn't want to. "You want to come, Yves?"

"Could be fun. I want to talk to him about it," Yves said. Obviously he was the one who best remembered the family's single experience with camping. "I have a project due next week but I might be able to get it done by Saturday."

"I'll go," Pierre said, in a not-surly tone. 

"I'd rather go to Neema's house," Amy said. 

"We'll talk to your mother over dinner. She said something about wanting to visit the deYoung, apparently they have a new exhibit." The kids hadn't been appreciative of the art museum, and if it nudged them along out of the house to know that was on the roster, so much the better. Having time to research and discuss Bettencourt's offer without the children around would be beneficial, he thought. 

Cordelia swiveled her head to look at Pierre again. "Tell him."

"No," came the immediate angry response.

"Papa-aaa-aa," Cordelia whined.

"Jean-Pierre," Jean-Luc said patiently, a hint of warning in his tone.

"I didn't  _do anything_."

"Then explain what she's talking about, and all will be well."

"Stupid teacher," Pierre muttered.

"He didn't want to give her the answer in class." Cordelia said it calmly, but he could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

"Stupid question," Pierre grumbled.

"Since you won't tell me, I'll wait for your mother to pry it out of you."

"I just didn't want to tell her I didn't know," Pierre exclaimed. "That's all."

"What did the teacher do, when you failed to answer?"

Pierre said nothing. The flitter arrived home, gliding into the garage, and the kids evacuated and hurried into the house. deLio and his four departed via the open garage door, bound for their home next door. Jean-Luc ordered the vehicle's computer to shut down and left it himself. Closing the garage door behind him, he stood in the front of the house, listening to the kids off to the right chattering at each other in their rooms. He started to unfasten the jacket at the collar, turning left into the dining room, going through the kitchen and into the hall on the way to the bedroom.

He had changed into some comfortable pants and a short-sleeved shirt by the time Deanna came home. She made her way back to him, greeting all the kids before she came to change out of her uniform. "Pierre's teacher contacted me this afternoon," she said, tossing her jacket on the foot of the bed.

"So what are we doing about him?"

"I told her one of us would contact her, after we talked to him."

"If this is the worst the kids do, we're very lucky, you know." He sat on the end of the bed and watched her take off the rest of her uniform and put on a green house dress.

"Bettencourt sent me a briefing, on the situation you've been dealing with," she said, turning from the hamper in the corner of the closet.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Her expression was also apologetic. "I almost wish I had simply refused. It would be easier."

"I know."

Deanna sat down next to him. "I'll talk to my supervisors in the morning. I may be able to take a few weeks off, before I report for duty."

Jean-Luc snorted, thinking about the months prior to the launch of the 1701-D. "I doubt it. But I would very much appreciate the attempt."

"I can't believe this is happening," she murmured.

But he knew she was happy, underneath the disbelief, the worry, and the fear. It proved what he'd already known.

"Stop being smug," she said.

"I've always told you -- "

"I know, Jean. But this is so hard. Even if I'll be based here, it's hard -- I don't want to think about being gone so much."

"But you know we need someone like you out there," he said. Someone who wouldn't be so susceptible to the influence of the Sisnok. Who wouldn't end up in a coma, at Starfleet Medical -- she had successfully stood up to them before.

No one would ever accuse them of doing anything the easy way.

 


	17. 3... 2... 1...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was set up with the introduction of transwarp in Far Afield, and when this is done, perhaps the muse will loop back and finish Closing Doors which set up some of the characters for this one.
> 
> The Lexington was Will's first ship, according to this series. Ref: Actions Speak Louder

"Admiral on the bridge," came a soft, familiar voice. Will Riker turned to find the captain of the _Hermes_ standing at the top of the bridge, looking down at him as he stood alone looking at the main viewer. The interior of McKinley Station was displayed there, and none of the stations were manned. He'd come to the bridge on his own as she'd been giving him the tour of her ship and been interrupted by her first officer wanting to show her something.

Deanna came down to stand next to him, smiling. She gestured at the screen. "Looking like something you've seen before, I think."

"One day to launch. Are you nervous?"

"I'm excited, which is not the same thing. Glad we'll have the opportunity to make our first run a joint effort. Though we'll have to slow down so the other vessel can keep up with us."

"Look at you, bragging already," Will said with a grin.

She turned toward the door at the side of the bridge. Her ready room -- her bridge, her ship. She seemed a little out of it today. Will knew she'd been working hard these past months, but now her ship was about to launch and she'd slipped into this shocked state of near-disbelief.

"You deserve this, you know."

She turned to gaze at him. He liked to think he was good at reading her, since he'd known her so long and so well. But she was a mystery these days. She'd confronted everyone's disbelief and shock with solemn calm, fond smiles, and very little explanation. Part of that was the classified nature of some of the work she'd be doing, the rest was regret. Being a mother who would be leaving her children behind for red alerts and rescue missions was wreaking havoc on her state of mind.

"He's so proud of you," Will went on.

"And you're jealous," she murmured. "But I didn't ask for this. A vessel was never my goal."

"Then that should tell you just how good you are."

"How telepathic I am, how unique I am," she muttered, staring at the viewer again. "How desperate they are."

"I don't think -- "

"You're forgetting that I am very good at sensing lies, truths, and the gradients in between. Bettencourt is desperate, and they can't recruit enough Betazoids with similar abilities fast enough."

"I know that admirals are good at projecting a level of desperation to motivate starship captains to do the impossible. It's in the handbook I got with the promotion. I have to practice twice a day before issuing orders to captains."

She laughed -- mission accomplished. Shaking her head, she gestured at the ready room door and led the way inside. Like the ship itself, it was more compact than the one she'd spent so much time in, over the past decades. Will liked the decor. So many of the Starfleet facilities were going to black and gleaming, she'd had the ready room done in all the colors of autumn.

"When I think about everything we've done, and how much we've suffered, I can't see this as a good idea."

It suggested once again that he'd been out of the loop too much, that he really hadn't seen what she and Jean-Luc had been through.

"Picard to Troi," came the summons, from her badge.

"I'm surprised," Will said. He knew they often communicated telepathically.

"Yes, Admiral?" She smiled, heading for the desk.

"Admiral Bettencourt and I are on the way to the transporter."

"I will meet you in the transporter room, then." She turned toward the door. "Coming, Will?"

They left the lift on deck eleven, finally seeing a few of the crew. She had a complement of five hundred fifty-four, and her senior staff were all chosen and present -- she'd already been running drills with them. Something that had surprised Will, but Jean-Luc had simply given him a look that suggested there were valid reasons for it. Classified, of course.

There were two transporter rooms, and some larger transporters in cargo bays designed for mass evacuations. The specificity of the label suggested to Will that this would be a rescue ship. The transporter attendant was Bolian, and Deanna asked her to bring the admirals aboard, thanking her by name. Will wondered how many of her crew were officers she'd worked with od the  _Enterprise_.

"Twenty-four," she said, as they waited a minute while Tisaan contacted the transporter attendant at Command.

"Wow." She usually didn't answer thoughts that way.

"You think loudly." She straightened as her guests beamed in, and as the transporter effect faded she stepped forward. "Welcome aboard, Admiral Bettencourt. Admiral Picard."

Bettencourt was almost smiling. For a Vulcan that was expressive. Will greeted them in turn, and Jean-Luc introduced him to Bettencourt as an old friend. "My former first officer, in fact," he went on. "Will just took a promotion, himself."

"Operations," Will supplied. "I confess, I probably have no right to be here. But she offered a tour."

"Missions may be classified but the existence of the  _Hermes_ is no secret," Bettencourt said. "You are welcome, Admiral Riker."

"We were about to head for engineering and check on the last adjustment of the transwarp drive." Deanna gestured toward the door and they proceeded in order by rank from the transporter room. In the corridor they spread out somewhat, and Will noticed out of the tail of his eye when Jean-Luc's arm went around Deanna's waist. Obviously not as shy about it as they once were.

"Your first mission at launch is generally discretionary, however, we have received information that the _Darwin_  has been in a battle. The ship is in Sector 374, having retreated from the system where they were engaged in a survey of planets with potential for terraforming. The transmission received from them was incomplete, no doubt hampered by the scarcity of subspace beacons in the region combined with the interference from a large nebula prone to ion storms. We have sparse coverage in that region due to having redirected vessels to reinforce Federation borders elsewhere."

"Then you want us to investigate?" Deanna asked. "I presume the  _Darwin_ was not heavily armed. They may need assistance."

"It would be a relatively quick trip, for the  _Hermes_." Bettencourt led the way into a turbolift, and they followed, fitting inside only because Deanna stood very close to her husband.

"Troi to LaForge," Deanna said, startling Will. She hadn't said Geordi was aboard. "Status?"

"We're just buttoning it all up. My team is done and heading for the transporter."

"We're moving up the launch -- I'll have to take a rain check on sitting down for a cup of coffee and a chat, Geordi. Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome -- we'll be off in ten minutes, tops. Godspeed, Captain. LaForge out."

"You didn't say Geordi was aboard," Will exclaimed.

Deanna smiled, but didn't respond to that. She tapped her badge again. "All hands, prepare for launch. Red alert."

"Captain," Bettencourt protested mildly. "Are you certain you're ready?"

"Everyone is aboard, they'll be ready." She glanced at the panel next to the door. "Computer, bridge."

Will lingered to let them go out on the bridge first, and as he followed along, he noted that the bridge had the full complement of officers. It felt alive, as a bridge should be. The officer at the security station at the back of the bridge was familiar. He stopped and grinned at the sight of deLio. The security officer with the longest face in Starfleet. Of course she would want someone solid in that position.

Will came down the bridge and stood out of the way, near the ready room door, and watched what he had not been able to witness for so long -- Deanna Troi being in command.

"All service personnel have departed," deLio announced. 

Deanna stood in the middle of the bridge -- Bettencourt had taken her seat, and Jean-Luc was borrowing the seat that either the counselor or doctor might sit in. But, given the intended use of the ship, there were no counseling staff, no accommodations for families, and also the various science departments that had existed aboard the  _Enterprise_ were not present. So the extra chair would likely be used as it was currently, for guests. Admirals, diplomats, or other such personnel.

Deanna had such a calm demeanor as she tucked her hands behind her back and looked down at the helm -- a young woman sat there, looking over her shoulder at her captain. Her black hair was cropped so short that it reminded Will of Tasha Yar. 

"Plot us a transwarp two-step," Deanna said. "Sector 374. Mr. Tyler, bring all sensors online. Mr. deLio, have all weapons ready. Full forward spread. Commander Sedgewick?"

The first officer looked up from the monitor on the arm of his chair. "All departments reporting in, standing by and ready for launch."

"Are we sure we'll be back in time to pick up the children from school?" Jean-Luc asked.

Heads turned. But the bridge officers were obviously aware, their smiles were amused, no one was surprised. 

"Ensign Monroe, an estimate of our round trip duration from present coordinates to the last known location of the  _Darwin_ ," Deanna said calmly. 

Monroe worked for a minute at her console. "At factor nine, half an hour."

"Mr. deLio, please leave a message with the babysitter," Deanna said. "And inform McKinley Station that we are departing."

"We've detached from station power. Engines are coming online," said a young man from what must have been the engineering console. Deanna may have chosen staff from her former crew, but it seemed most of her senior officers were new blood. 

"McKinley has cleared us for departure," deLio announced. 

"Monroe, transwarp factor nine, first step. Engage."

Will was about to ask about the docking clamps, leaving the space station -- but his stomach flipped, his head registered an immense amount of pressure against the inside of his skull, and he was reminded once again that transwarp was nothing like ordinary warp. Space, time, and reality folded in on itself, and then he felt as though he were floating in space. An odd feeling to have while still standing on the bridge. An indefinite amount of time later it felt as though he suddenly weighed twice as much, and then his stomach and head settled.

The main viewer showed a view of stars.

"Mr. Tyler," Deanna said.

"Long range sensors have detected the  _Darwin_. There are two other vessels closing on her." The man at ops was older, and as he turned to look at Deanna, Will could see that his eyes were orange and appeared to have three pupils each. K'zerot -- or a hybrid. Unless they were assuming human names because no one could pronounce theirs?

"Provide Ensign Monroe with the locations of the vessels. I want a course that will put us between the unknowns and the _Darwin_."

The young lady might have been playing a piano. "Less than a minute. Transwarp factor one."

Deanna glanced around the bridge, at the admirals, at Will, and said, "Engage."

This time the stomach flip and the head pressure were a mere blip -- and the main viewer showed the science vessel they were looking for. For a few heartbeats, the red lamps winked around the perimeter of the bridge and no one moved.

"Hard about," Deanna said, still standing with her hands clasped behind her back. "Mr. deLio?"

"The _Darwin_ has serious damage, shields are at thirty-five percent. The two vessels appear to be Kzenkethi, but life signs are mixed, suggesting pirates. Weapons are charged and their tractor beams were coming online."

"Open a channel."

"Channel open," deLio said.

Two vessels came into view as the _Hermes_ pivoted in place. Will thought they looked familiar.

"This is Captain Troi, of the Federation starship _Hermes._ " Her tone struck a balance between boredom and hostility, that made it difficult to discern which was the case. Will noticed Bettencourt glance at Jean-Luc as if asking what the hell was going on. Jean-Luc was watching his former first officer with an expression Will had never seen before, that said he was enjoying this immensely.

The response from the two ships was silence.

"State your intent," Deanna said at last. "Or withdraw. You have five minutes to respond."

The two ships turned about slowly, and moved away at impulse for a moment, then jumped to warp and vanished.

"The captain of the _Darwin_ is hailing us," deLio announced.

"Put it up on the main viewer."

The bridge behind the weary-looking man whose head and shoulders nearly filled the screen looked as though they'd started to lose inertial dampeners. A medic was tending a seated ensign in the upper left hand corner. "Captain, thank you for joining us. I had no way of knowing whether anyone got our message."

"You're welcome, Captain Harris. Are you able to return to a starbase under your own power, or will you require assistance with repairs?"

"Our warp engines sustained damage but I believe we will be able to make repairs." Harris blinked and seemed to finally notice the admirals. "Admiral Bettencourt?"

"We are on the maiden voyage of the _Hermes_ ," Bettencourt said, rising to her feet. "This was a test of the latest version of the transwarp drive. I would appreciate a full report, if you would join us?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll beam over immediately." The viewer flicked back to a view of stars and space.

"Captain," Bettencourt said, inclining her head toward the door opposite the ready room. She glanced at Jean-Luc, at Will, but invited neither of them, and Deanna followed the admiral into the conference room off the main bridge.

Sedgewick, an auburn-haired man with broad shoulders, glanced around the bridge. "Anything on the sensors, Mr. Tyler?"

"No, sir. Our long range scans show no other vessels in the vicinity."

"Cancel red alert. Let's get some of our engineers over there to help, Mr. Wegler."

The engineer jumped up from his station at the back of the bridge. "Yes, sir. I'll be in engineering if you need me. I want to check over the transwarp drive before we return."

"Not bad," Jean-Luc commented.

It drew looks from the first officer, the helmsman and the lieutenant-commander at ops.

"She used to be my first officer, you know," he continued, gesturing casually with his hand and crossing his legs.

Sedgewick started to chuckle, reassuring the other two, who turned back to their boards. "We know, sir."

"I think she's off to a great start," Will said.

Jean-Luc's smile said he thought so as well. "She was off to a great start the day she beat you in the war games, seventeen years ago."

Will laughed -- it brought to mind the crazy route that Counselor Troi had plotted, to put him off his guard before she ran the ship through a red giant to make him think they'd been destroyed. "I think I like her tactics better now, than they were then."

The turbolift opened to deliver Captain Harris. "Admiral Bettencourt is waiting in the observation lounge," deLio informed the man, who hurried to the door without looking at the other admirals.

"Guess we're just window dressing," Will commented.

"I've been saying that for years. She's been ready for this since the twins were born." Jean-Luc moved to the captain's chair, pointing at the one he vacated, and Will took it.

"You know, sir, I thought you were exaggerating," Sedgewick murmured.

In response to Will's wrinkled brow, Jean-Luc said, "I was telling them about some of the things she's done, in one of the briefings. I thought it would be easier if they were prepared."

"Mr. deLio agreed with him, and L'norim aren't prone to exaggeration, but still," Sedgewick added.

"Never underestimate a Betazoid," Will said. "Especially not that one."

He'd intended it as hyperbole, but Sedgewick nodded sagely.

"I didn't even tell them the more impressive things," Jean-Luc said. "Can't, really."

"Classified," Will put in.

"Most of them." Jean-Luc smiled fondly, his eyes hazed over as he wandered in memories. "There was this time we rescued the _Lexington_...."

 

 


	18. Brothers in Arms

The courtyard at the Picard home was looking more like a garden every time they visited, Tom observed. A lot of the flowers were blooming now. And he'd helped them install some full spectrum lighting around the periphery to help the plants that tended to get little of the sun through the transparent aluminum overhead. He sat down in the chair next to Beverly with his beer glass balanced on his knee, and glanced at Will Riker, who was speaking.

"I heard about transwarp before, of course, but I remember it being described differently -- I thought you had to run the ship at high warp before initiating it," Will said. "But she ordered the ship to transwarp while in drydock in McKinley."

"Yeah, that's changed for the better," Tom said. "But I'd expect it to - the first version was buggy as a bog." His former command, the _Venture_ had been the first working prototype.

"The transwarp drive has had a lot of updates," Geordi agreed, raising his pint to his lips. He was there alone, having come in after a meeting at Command. He had a wife now, who Tom had met a few times here and there. "The navigation systems had to have a total revamp to take full advantage of the way transwarp works. I looked at the logs from the first jump, and everything performed just the way it was supposed to, dropped them exactly in the coordinates the helmsman specified, no problem."

"From what Deanna said, it isn't as traumatic to the crew any more, either," Beverly said. She'd conducted the post-trip exams on some of the crew, including Deanna, due to previous concerns about the aftereffects.

"So it used to feel worse? Making me glad they didn't retrofit my ship with it," Will exclaimed.

Jean-Luc returned from the kitchen, in one of his open-collared white shirts and still wearing the uniform pants. He had the ale he'd gone in search of, and looked somewhat tired.

"Everything all right?" Tom asked.

"I just spoke to Bettencourt. She's hailing the first mission as a promising start of a project that she thinks will improve survivability of the vessels we're sending to the Federation borders." He took a long drink of the ale.

"Where's Dee?" Beverly asked.

"She went to talk to Annika. Something about a job," Jean-Luc said. 

Tom nodded. "That would be the cafe. She asked me for a reference."

"You?" Will exclaimed. 

It was an understandable question, as Tom had resisted having anything to do with the former Borg for a long time. "She's been helping me with the greenhouses and working with Yves on some of the marketing here in San Francisco."

"I think she will be fine, once she starts to work. Dee spent part of the last couple of months helping her get established in fleet housing." Jean-Luc listened for a moment, as Cordelia started to shout, but she stopped again. "We also rely on her to be here in the event both of us are called in."

"I like the ship," Tom commented, going back to the original topic. "A bit on the small side, but being able to pop out and drop in without all the tedious hours of high warp should come in handy."

"We had a tour a few days ago," Beverly supplied in response to Will's startled look. 

"Mengis coming back was a bit startling, but I understand why she wanted him. Some of the missions will require a top medical team." Jean-Luc took another hard pull on the pint, and nearly drained it. 

"Since you didn't answer, I'll ask again if you're all right," Tom said.

 That won him a sharp look that faded again rapidly. "I'm fine."

"It's allowed to have mixed feelings about sending your wife into battle," Tom commented.

"That isn't really it. I'm fielding a lot of anxious questions from the children. Wondering how long we'll be able to sustain the unpredictable schedule before Cordelia worries herself away to nothing."

As if the mention of her name invoked her -- though perhaps it had, Betazoids could be like that -- Cordelia pranced into the courtyard, the shoes she wore clopping on the pavers. Leaning on Jean-Luc's arm, she said, "Where is Maman?"

"Did you ask her?"

Cordelia giggled, and then jumped back a step and twirled, her white dress flaring wide. "Okay," she exclaimed. She caught Tom's eye, and ran past Will and Beverly to lean on his knee. "Did you bring me flowers?"

"Was I supposed to bring you flowers?"

"I like the big pink ones," Cordelia offered.

"Would those be the pink ones on the rose bushes, or the pink ones on the peony bushes?"

Cordelia wrinkled her nose. She would be a heartbreaker; she had mischief in her eyes and already had a great flirtatious attitude going for her. "All of them!"

"We have here a woman with refined yet generic tastes," Tom said. "I can bring you some next time. 'Course, if you come help me tomorrow, you can pick your own."

"Okay." She had Deanna's cheeky grin, and danced off toward the door. "Pierre! We're going to Oregon," she called out as she ran inside.

"Here we go," Beverly muttered.

"They're doing better about talking instead of arguing," Jean-Luc said. "Deanna's home." He rose and went out as well, and they heard the front door distantly -- and then all the footsteps hammering as the kids headed for the front of the house, calling out to her. Laughter echoed through the house.

Tom took notice of the faces of those who remained -- Beverly seemed happy enough. Will looked thoughtful, somewhat sad, possibly thinking about how happy the Picard family was and his own strained relations with his progeny. Geordi was amused.

Fidele darted into the courtyard, tail wagging, and here came Deanna in her uniform. "Hello," she greeted happily, glancing from face to face. "I'm glad you're here -- Geordi, did you get my message?"

"I did - sounds like everything went well enough. How's Norris doing?"

"You can ask him yourself if you come to dinner. My senior staff is meeting us at the restaurant," Deanna said, gesturing toward the door. "Are you coming, Will? Tom?"

"I have to go home, but wanted a chance to congratulate you," Will said, getting up to go. "I appreciate the opportunity to be there at the launch -- looking forward to hearing stories about your missions."

Deanna went to hug Will Riker in farewell, and Tom watched the body language that suggested old friends. Not too long, not too close, and Will was off for the door with an easy swinging gait, shooting Beverly and Tom a smile on the way by. Geordi was talking to Fidele, the dog wagging his tail as he sat in front of the engineer.

"You up for dinner?" Beverly muttered, getting Tom's attention.

"Sure you're not too tired?"

"I'm fine. But I know you did a lot today."

"Well, pruning, weeding, went around with my hose - but I can make it through an hour of lifting food into my mouth."

 Beverly wrinkled her brow at him. "I wish you didn't minimize how hard you work."

"She's right," Deanna said. She'd come over to them, and as Tom stood up with Beverly, the newest ship captain in Starfleet crossed her arms and studied him with what he guessed was an expression her children sometimes saw. "Do you miss being a starship captain?"

That question was enough to stop him cold. Beverly had an expression that suggested she knew what the answer was. "Sometimes, but that doesn't mean I want to be one."

"Why not?" Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc as he returned from the house. He'd put on a jacket. "Do you think they would give Tom one of the Expediter class ships?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Beverly smiled, turning to him with happiness in her eyes. "What do you think?"

"What about you?"

Beverly pressed her lips together, and looked at their friends. "We should talk about this later. We have people waiting for us."

"All of the senior officers of the _Hermes,_ in fact," Jean-Luc said.

Tom made scooping motions with his arms, herding them toward the open double doors, and out of the house. "Let's go. Whatever else I am, I'm getting hungry too."

They rode in their own flitter behind the Picard family in theirs, and Geordi came along in his own behind them. Beverly told the computer to take them to the restaurant. "It isn't about me, Tom," she said, following up on the conversation sooner than he'd anticipated.

"I mustered out because I wanted to, and you chose a position -- we're doing fine," Tom protested.

Beverly was shaking her head slowly. "You want me to think you're happy. You've been happy some of the time -- you forget that I know when you aren't."

"Naw, I know you can tell. But it's always that way, you can't say that Jean-Luc is entirely happy either. But I know when it's time to do something else. We all get older and slower. I was pretty tired when I quit."

"Yes. But they need captains who are resistant to telepathic incursion, and if -- " Beverly stopped as the flitter halted at the curb in front of a restaurant. 

Of course, having seen the damage first hand, she would be thinking of that. Tom wished again that they'd been able to remove the implant in his head years ago, and hated Section 31 all over again for a few minutes, uselessly. Starfleet could get rid of Borg implants and Borg nanites, and the fucking Section had to come up with an implant that would destroy the brain of the host -- only goes to show humanity's basic inhumanity, he thought bitterly. He could count on one hand the non-human Section agents he'd ever seen. The majority of Federation species were too honest or otherwise unsuitable for most of the Section's plans.

He was just relieved he hadn't heard from anyone since he and Deanna had destroyed the station. 

"If you're afraid that the Section might still be active and come after you, I understand," she went on, making him wonder if she'd suddenly become telepathic. He bit back a retort and took a breath -- of course she was smart enough to guess that might come up.

"Not really my concern," he said. "I just don't want to do it. I know you can tell there are things about it that I miss, but there are a lot of reasons that I'd rather just keep settling here on Earth. I get tired just thinking about all the drama, for one thing. And then there's this awesome redhead I tend to want to see naked on a daily basis."

Beverly slipped out the door, so he went the other way out the other door, and they met at the front of the flitter to step up on the walk together. She took his hand, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I wonder if you noticed that the first mission of the  _Hermes_ ended earlier today and Deanna's right over there?" She flicked her fingers at the front door of the restaurant, where the Picards were waiting with Geordi. 

"I thought we were discussing this later?"

She relented, and they joined the others, to be herded into the restaurant and then to the back room. The senior staff of the  _Hermes_ waited there. Tom watched the easy camaraderie between the officers Deanna had chosen, as she introduced them to her children and husband. And they weren't alone - they'd brought their own families. The room was packed and more like a family reunion than any gathering of officers Tom had ever been to before.

The United Federation of Cuisine was one of those restaurants with an immense menu and a good reputation with Starfleet officers, so dinner could be any dish from any planet in the Federation. Tom found himself directly across a table from Gregory Mengis, the chief medical officer of the  _Hermes_ who had retired and not stayed there. Mengis seemed in a good mood, actually smiled -- he had not been given to mirth, so he must be happy to be back on a ship and not relaxing on some beach in misery.

Beverly chatted with Mengis, who sat across the table, about the changes he was seeing in sickbay on the  _Hermes_ and the extensive medical facilities that the new vessel had, and Tom ate quietly while turning half an ear to the conversations taking place around him. On his right, Deanna and her first officer were talking about crew performance, predictably. On Deanna's right, Jean-Luc had his arm around Yves and the two were having a quiet conversation of their own. 

As the plates were being cleared by efficient waitstaff, Sedgewick rose to his feet and raised a glass.  "A toast to our captain, and the crew of the  _Hermes_. To many more successful missions together."

Everyone raised their glasses, the senior staff stood up, and then Deanna got to her feet last to touch the rim of her wine glass to those of her officers. Then there was a pause, and the big grins diminished when she did not mirror their joy with one of her own. The family members were all quiet, even the kids, watching her as the mood in the room shifted. She took a moment before she began to speak.

"Thank you, Commander. As I've said before, I appreciate your dedication and your willingness to serve." She glanced sidelong at Mengis. "The past month of training paid off, judging from the end result -- I expect our next mission will come when we least expect it, so I hope you take full advantage of your time with your families."

"We should all plan a trip to the beach," Wegler, the engineer, exclaimed. He had his wife and toddler son with him. 

"Can we, Maman?" Cordelia said excitedly.

"This weekend," Jean-Luc said. Cordie was sitting at his right, and she leaned over to give him a half-hug.

Then the conversation turned, as they tended to, as another officer stated a preference for a particular beach. Deanna sat down, and Tom noticed she took Jean-Luc's hand, out of sight under the table.

Once the plan for Saturday was made, people started to leave. Sedgewick was the last of the officers to go. Deanna turned to Tom and Beverly. "Are you ready to go?"

"You look tired," Beverly said. "We should go, just so you can get home. And I'm tired too, so yes, I'm ready."

Everyone stood up then, and Yves came around his parents to Tom. "I have another shop that's interested, I gave him your information," he said.

"Great. Y'know, you've done a great job -- I think you've doubled my accounts already," Tom said with a grin. "Now I'm going to need you to come help me plant more roses."

"That's a good problem to have, isn't it?" Yves had his father's cheesy grin. "I can come this weekend instead of going to the beach, if you want."

"I would really appreciate that. Thanks," Tom said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Deanna stepped around her son to give Tom a hug, moved on to Beverly, and Tom said his farewells to the rest of the family, hugging the kids and shaking hands with Jean-Luc.

In the flitter, as Beverly put in a flight plan and left the ground to make the high parabolic arc that would end in their front yard in northern Oregon, she turned to him. "They were expecting an inspirational speech, and she couldn't do it."

"I noticed that."

"And as proud as he is of her, he doesn't seem ecstatic -- probably the separations are still difficult for them. But she took the ship anyway." Beverly tapped the arm of her seat with her fingers thoughtfully. "What do you think that's about?"

"I think it's about something classified, and the same things that kept them in space as long as they were -- different things, but dire things. Not things that make me think I want to be in Starfleet again. But things that make her think I should be."

"I don't know if I think it's a good idea any more," Beverly said quietly.

"I know I don't. But you know, I think I need clarification. If she's asking me to rejoin Starfleet that's one thing. If she's asking me to follow her into a battle, same way I asked her once...."

Beverly's brittle smile said she understood. "I guess, if it's that... you might need a doctor. Which would resolve my debate about the position I've been offered at Starfleet Medical."

"Damn it all. I have roses. I have more customers than ever."

"We can find someone to tend them," Beverly said. "Guess you'll have to hire the rest of the kids."


	19. Old Friends

The flitter touched down in the lane in front of Tom's house, gliding up to park parallel behind Tom's and settling to the ground. Deanna got out and went to the wooden gate, swinging it open and stepping between the tall hedges into the yard. Tom kept his lawn short and had planted flowers all around the house, somehow managing a balance between manicured and abundant greenery going wild.

She knew Yves was out in the greenhouses, in the field to the right of the house. But Tom was inside, and she wanted to talk to him.

The hall hadn't changed. The dark lacquered wood walls and old inadequate lighting made it darker than it would have been this time of the afternoon. Deanna went down to the kitchen, following her sense of where Tom was. He turned from the counter as she came in. Not surprised at all, of course.

"You always threaten to knock over the house and build a modern one, yet here you are," Deanna said, glancing around at the old wood cupboards.

Tom lounged against the edge of the counter, grinning. "Want something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I'm here to get Yves, but I wanted to talk to you first."

"By an amazing coincidence, I also have something to discuss with you." He half-turned to get the beverage he'd been stirring - some sort of tall, green substance. He then led the way from the kitchen, down the hall to the front room. Which had been redone, over the years he'd been retired, and Deanna appreciated the earthy color scheme -- the greens and browns were more relaxing than the older parts of the house. Tom sat in one of the comfortable beige chairs near the window; Deanna thought the two chairs must be the ones he and Beverly used more often, as they were turned slightly toward one another and a small round table stood between them.

"Did you all have a good time at the beach? Love the tan," he exclaimed, his blue eyes laughing -- she had of course the same minimal ability to tan as ever. He was appreciative of her attire, as she still wore the green beach wrap over a jade bikini, a concession to the group she'd spent most of the day with at a public beach. Her preference was to swim or sunbathe in the nude.

"Have you thought about rejoining Starfleet?" she asked, folding her hands in her lap rather than fidget.

He laughed, quietly. "You must be telepathic. That's what I wanted to discuss."

"You have questions," she said, guessing based on what she could sense from him.

"And I think the specifics are likely classified. But I did wonder if you might be asking me to help you."

Deanna sighed quietly at his response. He was after all his own person; he'd never been so idealistic or patriotic, as many Starfleet officers tended to be. Whatever idealism he'd had burned off early in his career. When she had met him she had taken great care not to react with overt emotion to him. That had paid off, as he had become a good friend to them, and remained as loyal and supportive as ever. 

"Do you remember the Dominion War?"

Tom thought about that, and she gave him all the time he needed. His blond beard and mustache were shot through with gray, as was his cropped hair. When he wasn't smiling there was a weariness in his face that matched what she often sensed from him these days. "What part of that am I supposed to consider?"

"Your vessel was involved in quite a few skirmishes as I recall. The Kzenkethi, the Cardassians, and then in the effort to beat back the Jem'hadar. If you consider the latter part of the war, you might remember that state of chaos some of the worlds fell into, when the Founders abruptly ended hostilities and withdrew."

"Ah," he said. Then the scowl began, his brows coming together. He was after all quite good with strategy and had a well-trained instinct. Admiral Bettencourt likely would have appreciated him, had he presented himself for promotion. "The Breen? Or -- the Founders," he said, sitting up a little more.

"Not the Founders. We can't talk to you about the details, as you said." Deanna wished she could do more than nudge, and suspected she'd be in trouble as it was, if her superiors found out. But she also knew he wouldn't simply jump back into Starfleet.

Tom underwent a familiar internal sort of reorganization that said for the first time in years, he was turning into a starship captain. It always fascinated her before when she was merely empathic; now she could sense more of the process that humans were themselves so unaware of,  a peculiar state change that only their psychologists seemed able to describe.

"Is this looking like another war to you?" he asked at last.

She pressed her lips together and met his eyes steadily, knowing better than to talk openly either way. The situation was being kept under tight wraps for now, for reasons she understood. Starfleet continued to experience ups and downs in recruitment, and while there was a treaty of sorts with the Romulans there were still strains and stressors that kept them at arm's length, not committing to Federation membership. The Beta Quadrant's instabilities were all over the news these days. The fleet was already spread thin along that border. That the Breen were actively moving their resources, had allied with several other species over the past two years, and were clearly making preparations had been known for a while thanks to people in intelligence; what was not yet known was when, or who. The Breen Confederacy was situated on the outskirts of Federation space but also adjacent to the Romulan Empire.

"So where do the telepaths come into this?"

"You probably remember the briefings about the Sisnok. Opportunistic and capable of taking advantage of other species, depending upon how susceptible each one is to their influence. They likely have limited sway over the Romulans, who are related to Vulcans, whom they were previously unable to manipulate. The Breen may have been intending to do something anyway, but it would not be surprising if the Sisnok found out and decided to take advantage."

Tom was now fully focused on this situation, sitting forward in his chair, hands on his knees. Though he still wore the dusty brown trousers and the tan shirt with a tear in the sleeve, he was being the captain she remembered. Presented with a situation and responding as if he'd never left the service. 

"If I don't do this -- "

When he didn't go on, she responded to the question she thought he was asking. "We need people who are less susceptible to telepaths. We already have all the Vulcan captains -- there are not many -- deployed in the area. We already have appeals to worlds with telepaths, though as usual there are not many that will voluntarily join Starfleet and recruitment efforts take time that we don't have. The other option as you know is to find former Section 31 and you are no doubt fully aware of why they would be reluctant to step forward."

Tom's expression became more intense, almost a scowl, for a moment. "I need to talk to your admiral. Bettencourt, was the name?"

"That can be arranged. She'll want to know why."

Tom grinned. "I'm going to help her recruitment efforts, and discuss whether or not she really wants a has-been like me in the captain's chair again."

"Jean-Luc can arrange that for you. Monday morning?"

"I have an open schedule." His head turned sharply at the sound of the front door, but Yves came in to find both of them smiling. "Hey, your ride's here," he exclaimed.

"I know. I finished the last row in greenhouse four, so I'm ready to go," Yves said. 

"I'll see you in a couple of days," Deanna said, rising to go. Tom stood up and leaned over to kiss her forehead, and walked them to the front door, where he stood watching them walk to the gate. 

As the flitter started on the preset course to home, Deanna settled back and glanced at her son. He was watching her and feeling a great deal of confusion. When she didn't speak, he asked, "Tom was different."

"It's been a while since he left Starfleet. What is different is your depth of perception, because you were just starting to develop empathy around the time Tom resigned. Your abilities are much more acute than they were then. He's considering going back to take another vessel, that's similar to mine. Short missions and a quick return to Earth. He may be able to stay on standby and only be deployed in extreme circumstances. I think you are sensing a state change, that goes with his focus on Starfleet matters."

Yves' face wrinkled up in confusion. "There was something else. It felt dark."

"Tom was part of an experimental program. He has a brain implant that changes what we can sense from him." It was sufficient to the question, she hoped. In fact, the implant had impinged on parts of the midbrain, altering Tom's emotional range from the human norm, and that had been evident to her when she'd met him in that bar long ago. She thought that if she had been more capable then, she might not have been comfortable befriending him at all.

"Has he always been that way?"

"Since before I met him, yes."

Yves stared out the window, at clouds -- it was late in the day, and their course was taking them through higher altitudes quickly. Deanna reached out and deftly laid in a course that would send them around the planet, rather than returning them home in ten minutes. 

"This is bothering you more than I anticipated," she said, drawing his attention from his thoughts.

"Are there a lot of people like Tom in Starfleet? Why would they do that to him? That doesn't sound right," Yves exclaimed. 

"You're right. It wasn't ethical, what happened to him. And we've tried to find a way to remove the implant. But I'm afraid there are others like him."

"Like Dr. Mengis," Yves said. 

That meant her son was even more perceptive than she'd anticipated he could be, at his age. She smiled, leaning back in her seat, looking at the stars -- they were still in atmosphere, but flying somewhere over Asia. "Dr. Mengis also has an implant."

"But he doesn't feel dark that way."

"Dr. Mengis hasn't had reason for anger, at least when you are within range. That's how anger feels when someone has an implant like that."

"Oh." Yves stared at the console, which showed their route around the Earth. They were now over the Pacific again, and flying lower. "So you aren't concerned about it. You trust Tom?"

"Tom is our friend. He would give up his life for us, any of us, and yes, I do trust him."

Minutes later, they were once again in daylight and coming down into the hills of San Francisco. The computer accepted routing from the transportation grid, and they arrived safely on their street, the flitter coming to rest on the curb in front of the house. "Are we doing anything special for dinner?"

It was a valid question given all the dinners with friends and others lately. "No, it's just our family tonight. We'll be eating on time. Did you do everything you were supposed to do today, or do we need to drop you off again in the morning?"

"Everything's done for the week." Yves looked thoughtful.

"Something is bothering you?" Deanna took her hand from the door again, giving him a chance to express the doubt.

"So Tom hasn't changed," he said, questioning.

"Your perception of him has. But I've known him for a long time. There were times long ago that I questioned whether we could trust him, that's true, but he has never done anything to any of us -- he's saved our lives and we have saved his. One of the things empaths have to learn -- even our friends will sometimes experience emotions that can be disturbing to us. Your father has had his share of dark thoughts and emotions, Yves. All you have to do is think about what he's told you about the Borg, and multiply that ten times over -- it's been a long time, so the feelings he has are no longer so raw and intense, but I can tell you that had you been around shortly after his assimilation, you would be afraid -- I was very afraid, at the time."

All of it was true. Yves considered it and finally nodded as his doubt settled, and he trusted her judgment. They got out and went in the house, and Amy was there at the door to ask for her brother's help with her math, so the kids departed to their side of the house as Deanna went to find her husband. 

Jean-Luc was in the library, sitting with John Riker. They had finished the task of organizing his books and now he was teaching John how to play the ancient game of Go. Fidele was reclining nearby on the floor. 

"I see we have a dinner guest," she said with an easy smile that hopefully put John at ease. They were trying the same tactic with him that had worked for Annika, simply accepting him as a member of the family and letting him figure out how to participate as they went along. 

"Is it that time already?" Jean-Luc got up out of the comfortable blue chair, careful not to knock over the table with the game on it, and leaned to kiss her cheek, tugging at the beach robe she still wore. "Are you wearing this to dinner?"

"No, I am not. If you will muster the troops I'm going to shower and change. Yves is probably doing the same, he looks like he crawled around in the gardens." She left the library and turned left, and heard them going toward the kitchen as Jean-Luc asked John what he thought they should have. 

Later, after the replicated roast beef with a broad assortment of side dishes to appease everyone -- at the moment Amy was only eating Betazoid, which meant strict vegetarian -- Deanna sent the kids out for a walk to the park to play ball, Fidele along for the journey to keep an eye on things. John, despite previous assertions that he didn't care to spend much time with Yves, went along with them. 

"He's coming along," Jean-Luc said. He lead the way to their bedroom, where they tended to have such conversations. Deanna sat down at her dressing table and reached up to free her hair from the hair tie, to brush it out. Jean-Luc stood with crossed arms behind her. "How did it go with Tom?"

"He wants to talk to Bettencourt. I suggested Monday morning, I'm sure she will want to speak to him. He has an idea about recruitment."

Jean-Luc's reflection in the mirror frowned. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that. Unless he knows where there are Academy-trained telepaths we have not discovered yet?"

Deanna said nothing, brushed her hair in silence for a minute. He took a step and she let him have the brush, and he started to draw it through her hair slowly. She closed her eyes. While they communed silently for a time, sharing information back and forth about John's slow progress from guarded suspicion to acceptance, about Yves and his suspicions, about Tom and the possibility of other former agents of the Section coming forward to answer the call to defend the Federation, he finished braiding her hair and coiled it on the back of her head. She pinned it there while he held it in place.

"Annika's shift ends in ten minutes," he observed, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

"I'm glad she's started to rebound from the setback. The job helps, I think. Just a couple of days at work and she already feels more hopeful." She had been checking on Annika from time to time from afar; the cafe wasn't so far from the house that she even had to focus so hard.

"We should all go down to the cafe for breakfast in the morning."

Deanna leaned to the right to look up at him. "You lovely man."

"Her aunt is coming in the morning first thing, by transporter, to do the same," he went on. 

"Is this a surprise? I don't think it should be."

"No, she invited her aunt. I told her to come by tonight if she wanted to -- we haven't seen her since she got the job."

Deanna stood, turning to hug him, enjoying a few moments of peace without children to interrupt. After a moment they drew apart and headed for the front of the house. "Yves is becoming more skilled with telepathy, and showing more insight," she said as she followed him into the courtyard. 

"Do you think we need to explain anything further to him about Tom than you already have?" Jean-Luc asked.

"We really can't, without divulging classified information he shouldn't have," she said, as they sat in the two-person swing in the corner. "I hope it doesn't damage his relationship with Tom. He's done very well working for him."

"Tom's come a long way, over the years," Jean-Luc said, putting his arm around her. "He's surprised me by being a better friend than I initially expected him to be, really. He wasn't the sort of man I would have imagined I'd befriend."

That was startling to hear, and she tensed for a moment as he said it. Which led to his wordless questioning of that anxiety. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, think about when you met him -- the times I'd met him before, he was almost suicidally reckless. Callous, at least in words -- and he'd never met a woman he didn't proposition at least once, unless she outranked him. But it seemed to change after that time in the bar, and definitely after he and Beverly got together. I suppose having her in his life changed him as much as having you changed me."

Deanna thought about what she had witnessed of Tom, playing forward from that time years before when they'd attempted an intervention for Elisabeth Shelby. Tom had sought them out a few times before he had really connected with Beverly. He'd been quieter, still full of puns and weird slang, but not crude. "I don't think it was Beverly's doing," Deanna said.

"Well, something must have happened. Something made him change course."

"Have you ever asked him?"

The computer interrupted them by sounding the door chime. Jean-Luc stood up from the swing. "I have not. I'd have asked you, if I were at all curious. I'm not sure what you're getting at, Dee. It doesn't change who he is now. That's probably Annika."

Deanna stayed in the swing, and thought about her friend Tom. She knew beyond a doubt that he had been their very good friend and always would be. But it startled her, to think that he might have changed that much in order to be their friend.

Annika came into the courtyard. Deanna heard her heeled shoes on the tile and turned with a smile to greet the young woman. Annika wore a brilliant blue and white dress today, one of the outfits they had chosen together on a shopping trip to help her be ready for work. She had an easy smile and seemed completely at ease.

"You had a good day?" Deanna patted the wood bench and Annika sat down with her.

"Yes, it was very busy but I enjoy being busy." Annika paused, studying her face. "You're tired. Is everything all right?"

"We had a good day at the beach with the families of my senior officers, and the Rikers. We're having a restful day at home tomorrow, if we're not interrupted. Your aunt is coming for breakfast, Jean-Luc said. Would you mind if we came as well?"

"I'd like that," Annika said, smiling again. "You can have a piece of the coffee cake. I helped Bryan make it this evening, for the breakfast shift."

"I'm glad you're happy with the job," Deanna said.

"I'm only working a few hours in the morning. If you need me to stay with the children tomorrow afternoon," Annika said, going sly.

"I think we might take you up on that. The twins wouldn't mind a visit to the wharf."

"Then I'll plan to be here after one." Annika turned her head as Jean-Luc returned with a tray. "What kind of tea is it? I prefer not to have caffeine so late in the day."

"It's one of Deanna's favorites from Betazed, actually, so no caffeine whatsoever." He carried it to the table, so they abandoned the swing to sit with him in the center of the courtyard. "So tell us about your first few days at the cafe."

Deanna found it easy now to engage herself in the smaller dramas of daily life, and set aside other concerns. They listened to Annika's enthusiasm about her very uneventful job, and she found it encouraging that Annika was finding pleasure in small interactions with customers. It had been a long time coming.

After Annika left for her apartment, the kids came home, and Jean-Luc had to take John home while everyone else prepared for bed. Fidele followed her after she kissed each of the children good night, all the way around to her bedroom.

"Fidele, what is it?" she asked, sitting on her bed to take off her shoes.

"There was a man at the park whose behavior concerned me," Fidele said without inflection. He still reminded her of Data, as he had been in the early years aboard the _Enterprise_.

"Did you take images of him?" She reached for a padd that sat in a charger on the bedside table, for him to upload images to so she could review them.

"I did. He did not approach the children."

"Thank you. You can go be with the children now. Good night."

"Good night, Deanna." He wagged his tail and strolled from the room.

By the time Jean-Luc came back, she had done a search and found the identity of the man. She watched him come in, stripping his shirt off as he entered the room. He took note of her expression and hesitated.

"Fidele caught a reporter watching the children at the park," she said, holding up the padd.

Jean-Luc studied the image briefly. "I see we'll need to contact the publication in the morning. I'll ask security to step in."

"I'll warn the school."

Jean-Luc went into the bathroom. By the time he returned, she was in bed and watching him join her. "Are you really questioning Tom's motivations, after all this time?"

"Not at all. It was startling to think that he was really so different -- he's said before that he was different, but I thought he was exaggerating, like he always does for comic effect. You made it sound like he wasn't."

"I was also very different. We're both very lucky that we've recovered from being assholes."

Deanna leaned against the headboard, thinking about Tom's attitude toward her over the years. Jean-Luc settled into bed next to her and looked up at her, wondering what she was thinking about.

"We've all changed so much," she said at last. "And it's been incredible to see it happen. To be a part of people's lives, and see wonderful things happen for them."

"Yes. Thanks to Counselor Troi, I finally understand -- saving lives is important. But the real work is being there, for all the smaller challenges. Math homework, and first jobs, and trying to pass tests."

Deanna smiled at the reminder of tests, both official and situational. "We have indeed been tested. And there are more to come, I'm sure."

He waved his fingers at her, gesturing for her to come, and she slid down to put her head on his shoulder, resting in the curve of his arm. "Computer, lights out."

"I would do it all again, if you asked me to," she murmured into the darkness.

His only response was an upwelling of feelings that brought tears to her eyes. Love, pride, and admiration -- joy.

Smiling, she relaxed and waited for the ebb tide, when they would fall asleep together.


	20. Mrs. Bettencourt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers, though not explicit, for Ravens in the Storm.

Soriah Bettencourt walked from her home in a residential neighborhood near Command to her office every day. She found that it was straightforward enough; she wore street clothes, and changed into the uniform when she arrived at Tactical Operations. No one on the streets of San Francisco noticed a Vulcan in traditional Vulcan clothing any more. The facilities down the corridor from her office included sonic showers and a dressing area, as there was also a gymnasium in the building, so keeping some of her clothing there was not an issue.

She left the restroom and approached her office as a few people left the turbolift just beyond it, and stopped as one of them turned right instead of left to approach her. A tall human male, with golden hair going to gray and a short mustache, came to a halt and stiffened, saluting her.

"At ease, Captain," she said, modulating her voice to that pleasant tone and volume that usually reaped a positive response from humans. "You are Captain Glendenning, I presume. Come."

To her surprise, he followed her without the verbal barrage to which she was accustomed these days. Humans had oft been observed to be social to an illogical extreme. She instructed the adjutant to bring in coffee, which was the usual custom for humans in meetings, and preceded Glendenning into her office. When they were seated across the table from each other, the tray of coffee and accompaniments on the right and the adjutant gone, she nodded in his direction.

"I am informed that you have re-enlisted and wish to speak to me about the possibility of taking command of one of the Expediter series."

Glendenning had a calm demeanor, almost too calm. She had heard from others that Tom Glendenning was a poor choice. He had a record pock-marked with infractions, three courts-martial, and a few sternly-worded reprimands from Nechayev, the former fleet admiral. He was, if Sam Mallory was to be believed, less than professional. A bad example. A captain who tended to "play fast and loose," as Admiral Jellico had remarked in one report.

"Captain Troi has hinted that the situation along our borders with the Beta Quadrant has changed for the worse, and I am familiar with the issues in the Beta Quadrant." The captain had a gravelly voice. It had been explained to her that at times such a thing was due to injury, or to substance use. Glendenning's file included periods of captivity from which he had returned showing indications of having been tortured. Perhaps for some personal reason he had resisted having the condition treated.

"I understand you have had experience working with Starfleet Intelligence, in the past. As usual your records in this area are sparse. Would you speak to the nature and frequency of that work?"

Glendenning's cheek twitched, but he otherwise showed no outward reaction. "I have a history in undercover operations. I speak a couple of unusual languages fluently as a result."

That was less than expected -- again, he was proving to be nothing like other humans. With most of the interviews she had conducted the officer would recognize that she wanted details, and humans were usually more than happy to provide them. Soriah tilted her head, considering the passive man in front of her and wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to be Betazoid, able to sense and react to whatever was passing unspoken from this man. Not that she really wanted to invade the privacy of others.

"What is motivating you to return to space at this time, Captain?" she asked after pondering the matter of what she needed to know about the man.

Glendenning considered that and again, showed very little emotion -- quite the unusual human. "I want to help."

"Mr. Glendenning, I understand that humans often need emotional motivations to accomplish their goals. As a goal, wanting to help is rather vague. And I have learned that humans who tell others what they believe the other wishes to hear often have unspoken goals."

Finally, his expression changed. He rolled his eyes, glanced down at the floor, and sighed quietly. "Admiral, you obviously reviewed my Starfleet records, and I can understand why you might find it odd that I'm willing to come back. I know enough about the situation Starfleet was in when I retired to understand that the friends I have who are still enlisted are not worrying about nothing. You obviously need experienced people to command starships. The yards are launching ships monthly, which is highly unusual output, historically speaking. It's not as though Borg cubes are showing up here every day. Something is going on, and if you need me I'm willing to help. If you don't need me, I'd appreciate that clarification since I have several acres of rose bushes that need my attention."

"Rose bushes," Soriah echoed, uncertain that she had heard correctly.

"My family business -- until my father joined Starfleet, then my mother and sisters operated it. You have family businesses on Vulcan, I'd guess?"

"Yes. It simply struck me as unusual. No matter." She smiled faintly, a gesture that generally set humans she encountered more at ease. It seemed to have no impact on this man, however, as he returned to the impassive, calm, neutral expression he'd been wearing since arrival. "I understand that you know Admiral Picard well. He informed me that you were often assigned jointly to keep the peace, along the Romulan Neutral Zone and in the Beta Quadrant."

Glendenning nodded once. Obviously he was not going to volunteer information, as humans usually did. It was very odd, she thought.

A quiet tone from the panel in front of her on the gleaming black surface of the table interrupted. "Admiral Mallory is here," came the quiet voice of her adjutant.

"Please send him in. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Mallory entered the room and sized up the situation in a glance, taking a seat at the head of the table. "My apologies for my tardiness, Admiral Bettencourt."

"I was about to ask Mr. Glendenning whether he feels he will be able to continue to work with Admiral Picard."

"Ah," Mallory replied, turning to look at Glendenning expectantly.

"I have no issues working with Picard," Glendenning said.

Now Mallory stared at the man, with what appeared to be intense interest. Soriah had worked with Mallory for seven years, since her promotion -- Sam Mallory had been in Tactical Operations for longer than she, and seemed uninterested in further promotion.

"Do you have issues with the idea of working with me?" Mallory asked.

Soriah raised an eyebrow -- he hadn't mentioned knowing Glendenning, when she had talked in the last staff meeting about finding the next starship captain they would place on the second Expediter class vessel. There was a small pool of candidates, and Troi had suggested Glendenning as a possibility.

"No," Glendenning said calmly. "In fact, I have a suggestion to make. If you want to be effective in countering the Sisnok."

Soriah nodded slowly. "Please elaborate."

"You should put Admiral Mallory on one of the ships."

Soriah's eyebrow rose. "What would that accomplish?"

"You want people who are resistant to telepathic incursion. You should use people like him."

Mallory turned to her with a stern expression and an accusatory tone. "He's talking about people who were involved in Section 31."

"I see. You are referring then to the implant, that so many people were given. So you have one of them? It gives one the ability to detect others with implants, as the admiral as said."

"I do," he said simply.

"This explains much. Admiral Mallory has informed me that these implants allow you to control parts of the brain that would otherwise be beyond your control. I have been confused by your emotionlessness. I have observed that it is more typical that humans exert very little control over their emotions."

Glendenning smiled, at that point, but it was not a pleasant one. Something about him was quite unsettling. But in a few seconds he went sober again, and Mallory was speaking.

"Are you still a part of Section 31?"

His head tilted right. "You mean have I been used by them lately. I never signed up for what I ended up with. The Section favors bait-and-switch as a recruitment model. Did you tell Admiral Bettencourt what else the implant does?"

"I told the admiral everything that I know. I felt that in the interests of Federation security, she should understand how the Section contributes to the Federation."

Now Glendenning's blue eyes narrowed, as he glared at Mallory. He refocused on Soriah then, with an intensity that surprised her. "If I do take one of these ships, I report to you, or Picard. Not him."

"The chain of command will be respected," Mallory exclaimed.

After a moment of no response to that, Soriah recognized that Glendenning had formed an opinion and made a decision. "Admiral Mallory, you are dismissed. Thank you."

Mallory wasn't happy, but he nodded and left the room, his posture shouting his displeasure. Glendenning didn't bother to glance up.

"You would report to Admiral Picard, as does Captain Troi," Soriah said. "Where do your loyalties lie, Mr. Glendenning? With Starfleet, or with the Section?"

Anger flashed across his face. "My loyalty is to Admiral Picard," he said after a moment.

"Interesting. Have you been a loyal Starfleet officer throughout your career?"

He raised his head ever-so-slightly and she thought he might reply in anger. But he said, "Yes. As much as the Section would allow me to be."

"Then why specify an admiral, and not Starfleet?"

"I would think it's obvious. You know about Section 31 and their mission. You know they claim necessity, and violate the principles of the Federation at their whim. If I think about being loyal to the Section, I may as well shoot myself in the head. And when Starfleet officers are also Section, it makes it difficult to be so general in one's loyalties. I can uphold an oath to Starfleet but I have seen too many others fail to do that. Jean-Luc is the last reliable admiral I know. Are you loyal to Starfleet?"

"Of course."

Glendenning smirked at her calm response. "Almost everyone I know would assume that a Vulcan could be taken at face value. I can't -- the Section does not believe they are disloyal, despite wanton violations of Federation principles."

Soriah smiled again. "I am not a member of Section 31."

"I know. Are you a sympathizer? A pawn, or an unwitting tool, or perhaps you simply think of them as just another department of Starfleet?"

"I do not believe that I am any of those. Admiral Mallory informed me of his prior affiliation with them in the interests of full self-disclosure when I took this position. He stated at the time that he hadn't been contacted by other agents of the Section in years, nor had he been tasked with anything clandestine for longer than that. He is aware of several others in our department who also have implants. They have not exhibited behavior that leads me to suspect they are engaged in anything other than legitimate Starfleet business. Are you testing me, Captain?"

Finally some emotion in his face -- anger, and a lot of it. He leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes blazing. "Do you understand why I would want to test you?"

"You appear to find the Section abhorrent. By association you disapprove of Admiral Mallory, though he is a Starfleet admiral and acting as such. I can only conclude that you have been betrayed by fellow Starfleet officers often enough that you will not extend to the admiral the trust that officers often feel toward each other, by dint of their affiliation with Starfleet. But you do trust Admiral Picard, and so I presume that you find he has passed your test?"

Glendenning slouched back in the chair suddenly. He now studied her with half-lidded eyes. "You are correct, for the most part."

"What would I need to do to gain your trust, Captain Glendenning?"

"Do you believe in the guiding principles of the Federation? Would you give your life to uphold them?"

Soriah pondered -- this was not the conversation she had envisioned. "I recall that I swore such an oath at the beginning of my Starfleet career. The answer continues to be yes, I would. I have upheld the law of the Federation and the regulations of Starfleet to the best of my ability."

"Then tell me your definition of Section 31. What are they?"

"They are a group of vigilantes, apparently. I have found nothing in the Federation charter or in Starfleet regulations that defines them as a legitimate entity. Nor have I any real proof that they exist, other than Admiral Mallory's provision of his medical records, which shows an implant that violates several laws simply by the fact that he informs me he gave no consent for it to be placed in his brain. He was willing to submit to a mind meld -- in fact he suggested it. I am as certain of his loyalty as I can be."

Glendenning stared at her as if waiting for another response, but she did not have one, so waited patiently. She had the impression she was being studied by a predator. "Has he told you what the implant does to the mind?"

"He has not gone into great detail. Apparently they are not removable."

"The Section found it expedient to replace some of the brain that gives a man a sense of conscience, or empathy. They use the implant to subvert humanity so the agent will do whatever they need to do without feeling guilt."

"I see," Soriah replied, uncertain as to whether she truly understood. As much as she had tried to understand them, there were still things about humans that confused her. "Would I be correct in the assumption that this might be difficult for an ethical man, to be given such an implant that changes his feelings so substantially?"

Glendenning blinked in surprise. A flicker of pain crossed his face. "Among other things."

"Would this present an impediment to further Starfleet service? I expect officers in Tactical Operations to adhere to regulations."

"No, it does not -- I follow regulations. And it's a fair question, but you can look at my record again from 2377 forward and see a better reflection of what I am now."

Soriah nodded, though that explained nothing at all. "I will discuss the matter with Admiral Picard, and let you know. Captain Troi speaks highly of you, and I expect there is a good reason for that."

For a moment he seemed, oddly enough, somewhat dismayed at the mention of Troi. But he said nothing.

When she stood up, he did so as well, coming to attention. "Thank you for speaking with me. You are dismissed, Captain."

After he was gone, the adjutant returned, picking up the untouched coffee service. "Admiral?"

"If there are no urgent matters, I would appreciate privacy, Lieutenant."

"Of course." The lieutenant left quickly, without a backward glance.

Soriah went to the window and looked down at the buildings below. After spending sixteen minutes in deep thought, she went to her desk and ran a finger over the touchscreen, which registered her fingerprint. "Bettencourt to Troi."

"Admiral," came the near-immediate response. "Troi here."

"Please report to my office."

"I will be there in fifteen minutes. Troi, out."

In the time it took her to arrive, Soriah asked the computer to contact her husband. She knew he would be practicing at home. "Téo," she said, when the channel was open.

"Soriah?" There was anxiety in his voice, as it was unusual for her to call him while on duty.

"I am asking a colleague to dine with us -- are you free this evening?" She suspected he was, but sometimes he made last minute plans to see a friend. She didn't often ask anyone to dinner, and surprising Téo with guests while he was rehearsing for a performance was not helpful to him.

"Of course. Another admiral, my dove?"

The nickname was a play on her name, which was derived from the name of a bird on Vulcan. She indulged him in this as she did in many things, because she could hardly expect him to be Vulcan. "An admiral and a captain. You will make the usual arrangements?"

"I will. The usual time?"

"Yes. Thank you, Téo."

"I will see you at sixteen hundred hours."

Soriah had time to visit the restroom, so she took it. As she returned to her office, she heard Glendenning's voice -- and Troi responded. Coming around the corner, Soriah was surprised to find the two smiling at each other as they stood in the corridor outside the door to her office.

"You should take her dancing," Troi said. "Make it up to her."

"Absolutely -- the question is where. Rio, Paris...."

"There's a nightclub in London that sounds good. Will asked us to take the boys so he and Bell can go for a weekend." Troi was smiling up at the man in a way that suggested fondness and trust.

"Captain," Soriah said, as she approached.

Troi glanced at the admiral and came to attention, as did Glendenning. "Admiral. Good morning."

"Thank you for being willing to come in -- I apologize for the scheduling, but I would like to discuss an urgent matter with you, and the rest of my day has been filled by my helpful adjutant with meetings. If you would." Soriah gestured at her door, and preceded the captain toward it.

"I'll see you later, Tom," Troi said.

"Sure." Glendenning headed for the lift.

"Would you care for a beverage?" Soriah nodded to the lieutenant. "I will have spice tea, Lieutenant."

"I would like one as well," Troi said pleasantly. "Thank you."

"Yes, ma'am."

Troi sat in the same chair Glendenning had. She was impeccable in uniform and her hair in braids, pinned on the back of her head.  Soriah waited for the adjutant to bring their beverages and leave again. "You recommended Captain Glendenning to me for the next vessel we deploy. I would appreciate clarification."

Troi blinked at that. "Clarification?"

"Were you knowingly recommending a member of Section 31 to us?"

Her reaction wasn't as expected. She exhaled audibly, and her lips thinned as she repressed whatever emotional reaction she had to the question. "I recommended a captain whom I have fought in battle beside, and I know to be an enemy of the Section."

"You determined this by what means?"

"How did you determine you could trust Admiral Mallory? Or Admiral Keller," Troi asked. 

Soriah, for the first time in memory, was shocked. Keller was a recent promotion, a former starship captain with an exemplary record. They stared at each other until Soriah recovered; it was difficult, since she was so rarely shocked that that in itself was shocking. Mallory hadn't named Keller as one of the former agents, nor had he identified Keller as a potential security issue as he had with other officers.

"I did tell you that I am an empath," Troi said at last. "I know there are officers in Starfleet who have that same implant, which I can sense and recognize right away without resorting to invasive probes. I never assume they are truly malevolent, however, as I recognize the Section recruits anyone they see as useful -- Tom was led to believe he was working against them, but discovered later that the implant could be used against him more than he thought, and that it was all a manipulation of a young man whose family lost their father to the Section."

Soriah cocked her head at that, raising an eyebrow. Mallory hadn't mentioned how he had come to join the clandestine agency. "You are suggesting that an implant does not mean the person is not loyal to Starfleet. But it does not mean that he is -- and because there is a history of participation in Section 31, I must then question his loyalty to be certain. And because you are strongly advocating for his trustworthiness, I must verify that you are not compromised yourself."

She wasn't perturbed by this assertion. "The question remains -- how you trust Mallory, and not Captain Glendenning."

"A mind meld. The admiral volunteered to undergo one, to reassure me."

Troi thought about it, her face giving away nothing. "I'm curious -- in a mind meld, do you have complete access to the other person's mind? Including their emotions?"

"Yes, a mind meld is quite intense. If melding with a human, a Vulcan who is proficient with a meld is able to detect falsehoods in him."

"Then perhaps we should engage in a mind meld. It would be easiest to answer your questions telepathically anyway. When there have been occasions that it becomes necessary to discuss our experiences with the Section, it can result in many questions. You can verify what I know about Tom Glendenning, and the Section."

Soriah considered this seriously for a moment. It had not been her intent to do it, but she had already made an arrangement that would suit the situation. "I am not comfortable engaging in a mind meld here at Starfleet Command. If you would come to my home for dinner tonight, we can have more privacy and less chance of interruption."

Troi nodded approval. "I will ask friends to be with the children for the evening."

"You may of course bring your husband. I have intended to invite you, but my husband has been on a tour. I prefer having him home, when I entertain guests. Does eighteen hundred hours sound appropriate?"

"Yes. We will be there."

"You are dismissed, then, Captain."

Soriah sat alone for a time, pondering, until the adjutant alerted her to her next meeting. She turned her thoughts from the latest development to address an ongoing one.


	21. The Quest for Identity

Deanna finished tying back her hair and studied the end result in the mirror. The shimmering teal dress, the swan necklace, some dangling earrings that the twins had gotten her for her birthday, and some subtle eye makeup did help, she thought. It made her feel younger, dressing up this way.

She sensed him coming before Jean-Luc leaned in the bathroom door. He smiled, taking a moment to look her up and down. "Worth the wait."

"And I'll confess that Tom is being a little too intense for my liking, so I took my time in hopes of him calming down," Deanna said.

"If you make an appearance I'm sure he'll be completely distracted."

"If you didn't distract him, I'm afraid I might fail," she replied. "You've always been completely distracting in your suit."

"I... think you might have mistaken me for someone else," he said, backing into the bedroom as she walked him backward, hands on his chest.

"Nope." She ran her fingers down the lapels of the dark gray jacket. "Absolutely no mistakes."

He chuckled at that, genuinely startled. "You've said that to me before."

"At least I'm consistent."

"Our first kiss. You said that right after."

Deanna caught his fingers in hers, and remembered with him. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"You were, and you are."

They spent a few moments spinning old memories between them, remembering the insecurities and the way those early weeks of the relationship had been for them. The things they had found challenging, and how those challenges seemed easy, in retrospect, compared to things that had happened later....

"Come on," she murmured at last. They left the bedroom hand in hand. Tom and Beverly were waiting in the dining room, each leaning on the table and sitting across from the other, and Beverly lit up with a bright smile.

"You both look great. Dee, it's so good to see you smiling."

"It's too bad we're wasting it on an admiral. Perhaps we'll go out tomorrow night for a real evening on the town," Jean-Luc said, glancing at Deanna.

"I'll need a new dress."

"Amy will be happy to help you find one, no doubt." Jean-Luc nodded toward Tom and asked Beverly, "Is he going to be all right?"

"Of course. I think the worst is over." Beverly leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs, looking relaxed in the white dress. Somehow she had gotten the afternoon off, and she and Tom had shown up an hour ago so Tom could rant about needing security on the Picard house.

Tom was unreadable -- an unusual state for him. Deanna sighed heavily, and as Jean-Luc went to get her a coat she came around the end of the table to put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I know why you're anxious. We'll figure out what to do about Mallory."

His blue eyes swept up to meet hers. "Dee.  _He has an active implant._ "

"Yes," she agreed. He'd said this earlier. 

"We deactivated them, before we blew up the station," he added. "Remember that?"

Jean-Luc returned with the coat, holding it up. Deanna put her arms in the sleeves, remembering, and her own anxiety ramped up again. "I remember. Still, we don't know how it happened that he does -- we need more information. And going to see the admiral should help us get more."

"You could let me have a talk with him," Tom suggested. 

"When you're calmer, I think that can be discussed. I know you're using your implant to look calm, but no one should make decisions when they're as angry as you are."

"Fair enough," he said begrudgingly. "I'll work on that until you call me in to rescue you."

"What makes you think Sam Mallory is going to come here and kidnap the children? If anything I would assume he'd be on his way to your house, to find you," Jean-Luc said. "Did you tell him that we know what you were? Deanna didn't speak to him."

"I told Bettencourt I wouldn't work for him, but I would work for you," Tom said firmly. "And I told her why. In retrospect that was a bad thing to do with him in the room. I only started to think about the potential consequences to everyone else later. Shows how little I've thought about the Section in the past carefree decade, actually, lost my edge completely."

Deanna sighed again at the self-recrimination. "I'll just remind you that we've been surviving in spite of the odds for a while, Tom. And I intend to accompany Jean-Luc tomorrow, to the office, to poke my head in and get a very good read of Mallory."

"You almost ran into him when he was leaving my office," Jean-Luc said. "The day you came over for lunch, and Bettencourt informed you of the position. He was in my office. I would have introduced you if he'd stayed."

That sent her back a couple of months in memory, and she frowned. "The one with gray hair, that was Mallory?" She had a habit of blocking out others while on duty, now that she could do so, so she had no memory of anything other than a brief impression of yet another admiral.

"Sam Mallory, Vice Admiral, been in Tactical Operations for seven years. Bettencourt promoted him from rear admiral. He was promoted from captain twelve years ago, had a ship named  _Ticonderoga_ before that." Jean-Luc was thinking harder now too. "Computer, access the Tactical Operations mainframe at Starfleet Command. I want to see Vice Admiral Sam Mallory's service record, prior to his promotion to flag rank."

The house computer held his credentials and responded to his voiceprint, so the frame on the wall that normally displayed their array of family pictures flickered, then went to the Starfleet Command insignia. Deanna sidled over to stand behind Tom's chair, and Beverly pivoted at the waist to look up at the display. 

The usual format for Starfleet service records was a recent picture and paragraphs narrating the chronology of the officer's career. Jean-Luc asked the computer to display earlier versions of Mallory's record. The image from when Mallory was still captain startled them, after seeing two images of the man they had met. 

"There might have been a reason for cosmetic surgery," Deanna said after a few minutes. 

"That's a difference," Beverly said. "But I don't see anything in his history that suggests he needed surgery. No major physical trauma to the face."

"Why would he change his hair color?" Tom asked. "So, anyone still think he might be trustworthy?"

"We'll have to think about this later. We're going to be late, if we don't go," Jean-Luc said. 

"We'll keep an eye on things here," Tom said. "Make sure the kids don't escape."

Tom was getting some of his hyperbole habit back; Yves was already taking his younger siblings to school some mornings, and doing fine in terms of taking responsibility for what he needed to do. Deanna smiled at his comment and patted his shoulder as she followed Jean-Luc from the dining room. "See you in a few hours. Thank you, for being willing to babysit."

In the flitter, after giving the computer the address, Deanna sank back in the seat and put her hands in the pockets of the coat. There were two devices in each. She drew one out and found that Jean-Luc had a resigned expression, though he was still a little angry.

"To think I could have retired," he mumbled.

"It would have made us less of a target, likely. But we have to address this." The devices would let them talk to the admiral in confidence. Designed by Data in response to Tom's determination to thwart Section 31 surveillance, they would scramble frequencies that the Section used.

In response he reached over to take her hand, and they rode silently for the few minutes it took the computer to navigate them to another neighborhood and stop in front of an unassuming single story home with a lawn and no fence. Jean-Luc took her hand again as they stepped up onto the walk and approached the house. 

A middle-aged gentleman answered the door. He introduced himself as Téo Bettencourt, and welcomed them inside. His short black hair and gray sideburns along with his darker skin tone suggested a Latin heritage. "Soriah is in the kitchen," he said, guiding them down a short hallway to the back of the house. "We'll be out on the patio -- I have some Rueda Verdejo waiting for us."

"Excellent," Jean-Luc exclaimed, approving. "I was just thinking that I should visit some of the Spanish wineries."

"You know wine," Téo said, as they emerged on an open patio surrounded by tropical plants. Birds of paradise were blooming in the corners. Glowing amber orbs dangling from the eaves of the house provided soft lighting, as the sun had already set. 

"My family has made wine for several generations now."

While they talked of wine, Deanna took two devices out of her pockets and set them at either end of the rectangular table, and strolled around the patio, choosing a couple of large planters for the other two. She took off her coat, dropped it on the back of the chair next to Jean-Luc's, pulled it out slightly and sat in it. While Téo spoke of how he'd found this particular vintage of Verdejo, he watched her with dark eyes and smiled as he poured a glass of white sparkling wine and passed it to her. 

"This is very good," she said, tasting it. "Very different than our wine."

"You are a captain of one of the new ships, I understand," Téo said, pouring another glass and setting it to his left, presumably for Soriah. "I once thought I might want to be in Starfleet -- a young man's dream. I was at the Academy for two years when I realized I needed to play the piano. But I met Soriah and so it was not wasted effort."

"Do you have any children, Téo?" Deanna asked. 

Téo's happy smile answered the question neatly. "Israel is at the Academy, in the engineering department. He will graduate in a year."

The sliding door opened again, and the admiral stepped out -- she wore a red robe rather than a uniform, and nodded to them. "Teo, if you would assist me. Welcome to our home," she said smoothly. "Dinner is ready."

"We'll be back in a moment," Téo said, rising to help his wife. 

Deanna watched them disappear inside, and glanced at Jean-Luc. She thought, and he agreed, that the situation was unusual. He touched her shoulder, resting his hand on the back of her chair, lightly brushing his thumb along her skin. 

"Where are you taking me tomorrow night?" she asked, thinking about being out with him at a restaurant, alone. Something about the way he was looking at her reminded her of Risa.

"I'll surprise you. You should wear something comfortable for dancing."

She grinned at that. "My, you've changed."

"Unless, of course, you no longer enjoy dancing."

"It's never been a favorite activity, but in the right environment I would certainly enjoy a waltz with a dashing young man."

"So now I have to find a young man," he said, clearly joking. But he could tell, because she'd been so connected with him this evening, that she wasn't amused, and eyed her with sudden realization.

Their hosts returned with trays covered with food. "I have prepared a traditional Vulcan meal. I hope that it is to your liking."

"It smells good," Deanna said. "I often find that most human food is blander than what I grew up with."

The conversation turned to food, of course, a safe enough topic. Discussion of foods from all over the quadrant was interesting, with a pianist who had toured other worlds for a decade. Jean-Luc had a lot to say about different foods, of course. Dessert was Téo's favorite, a lemon cake with raspberries and a light glaze. Deanna nibbled, feeling full. While Téo praised his wife's cake-making skill she checked on the children, and was reassured by Yves that they were all playing a game with Tom at the moment.

"I have been studying this afternoon," Soriah said, drawing Deanna's attention back to the conversation. "I knew very little about the abilities of Betazoids, and I supposed that I should, if I am intending to mind meld with one of them. And then I saw that you are half human, in your records -- and that is curious. Because your records and your logs, and your commanding officer's logs, are rife with incidents in which you were using telepathic abilities that are not at all consistent with Betazoids."

"My doctors have theorized that repeated encounters with other telepathic species has something to do with that," Deanna replied, unphased by the admiral's research.

"Yes, I would presume so. The fact that you were able to manage to defend yourself against the K'korll and eventually to nullify them entirely. And just now it was obvious to me that you were communicating with someone at a distance."

"That would be our children," Jean-Luc said.

Soriah nodded slowly. She hadn't taken a piece of cake, and sat upright as ever, her hands folded in her lap. "It occurred to me, as I understood more about you, that a meld may not be necessary. It appears that you were strong enough to withstand the K'korll, the strongest telepaths known to the Federation, where others have failed. It would certainly be well within your ability to simply connect, without a meld."

"I'm not familiar with Vulcan mental practices. I was not certain what function the meld serves, whether there may be reasons behind the ritual," Deanna said.

"Vulcans are indeed very good at rituals. But I expect that even if I were to maintain my shields, you would be able to push past them easily. So it occurs to me to merely invite you and see what happens."

Jean-Luc was apprehensive as he'd been when Deanna had mentioned the admiral's request for a meld. But Deanna pushed him out of her mind, spent a moment with closed eyes to gather her thoughts, and extended her mind forward. As Soriah had said, she'd opened herself to the contact. The mind of a Vulcan was as orderly as she'd anticipated. There was emotion, but controlled despite the intensity of it. Deanna unfolded the memories she'd prepared, and delivered the accounting of the destruction of Section 31's base of operations in the Sol system, along with the memory of threats she'd received.

She recoiled into herself again, withdrawing from the admiral's mind, and found herself looking across the table at the wide dark eyes of a startled Vulcan.

"Has Admiral Mallory ever been here?" she asked, calm and composed. A glance verified that the small devices at either end of the table still glowed slightly.

"A few times," Téo said, watching his wife recover from her brief time meeting minds with Deanna. "Soriah?"

Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc - he looked relaxed, slightly turned in his chair to look at her, and from his expression one would assume interest. She knew he was very curious and somewhat worried, however. She shared with him what she'd learned from her brief time in Soriah's mind.

"I think we should be concerned about Mallory," he said.

Soriah took a deep breath, and finally seemed back to herself. "Thank you, Deanna. That explained much."

Deanna's stomach sank a little. "I have to wonder how many other agents have become active. If Keller is one of them."

"One thing at a time. These devices -- you have more of them?" She pointed at the small glowing cylinder on the end of the table.

"I was wondering what they are," Téo said.

Soriah turned to her husband with a serious expression. Though she said nothing, he smiled and stood up, pushing his chair back. "I will let you discuss this without the security breach," he said, collecting dishes.

"Thank you, Téo," Deanna said. "I'm looking forward to hearing you play."

After her husband had gone inside, Soriah turned back to them. "I find this situation appalling."

"Nothing should change," Jean-Luc said. "Doing anything prematurely only makes them aware that you are aware."

Soriah's subtle expressions were not easy to see in the dim lighting but Deanna could sense curiosity and the admiral's anger diminished. "You attempted to remove the Section's power base and free the people who have been threatened into complying with their demands. It may be that some of the remaining officers with implants decided to fill the vacuum, so to speak."

"Or it may be that Mallory's implant was not deactivated when Tom and I sent the encrypted message," Deanna said. "Jean-Luc will be able to get a DNA sample from him, so we can determine who he really is."

Soriah actually smiled -- she settled back in her chair, not slumping but not so upright as she'd been. "He enjoys hard liquor. I don't doubt you would be able to get him to provide you with a convenient sample."

"I could find a scotch to sacrifice," Jean-Luc said.

Deanna replayed her single encounter with Mallory -- the man had brushed past her too quickly on his way out of Jean-Luc's office for her to get a good look at him. It was unusual for men to not so much as give her a look, actually.

From inside the house came the distant sound of a piano. Soriah nodded. "We should go inside. We will speak of this again, but not at Starfleet Command."

"You can take these to the office," Jean-Luc said. He stood up with them and retrieved the other two from the planters. "Your office is likely under surveillance, but we can't remove anything without informing them you know -- so use these when you wish to discuss the Section and leave everything as it is for the time being."

"Thank you," Soriah said. She glanced sadly at the four devices on the table, and turned to lead the way inside.

Deanna informed Jean-Luc telepathically that she'd given the admiral a partial accounting of what had happened when she and Tom set themselves against Section 31. He walked with her, his hand on her back, in through the double doors to set the drama aside and enjoy the music.

 


	22. Sir, Your Agenda Is Showing.

"Are you going to hover again today at the Picards?" Beverly asked casually over coffee.

They were eating on the back patio again, among the blooming azaleas. Hummingbirds were swooping around their heads. He stabbed his omelet as if it had threatened her.

"Tom," she summoned, gently.

He looked at her again, and smiled. "Yes, my love?"

His love was rolling her eyes, again. "I know you're concerned about that admiral and what he's up to, but it's been observed that going on as normal is the plan until we have more information, such as who he is and what his real motivations are. Is living at the Picard house normal?"

"Remember when they mentioned the reporter that was watching the kids at the park?"

Beverly put down her mug and thought about that. "You're thinking it wasn't just about being nosy. But they warned him away and he hasn't been back. Deanna spoke to him herself and didn't detect any lies -- he proved out as a reporter, not a spy."

"If I wanted to test my target's level of awareness of their surroundings, that's what I would do - drop a hint to a reporter."

Beverly now gave him the full treatment -- slow surprise dawned across her face, and then a full-on, I-don't-believe-this, oh-shit stare. The same one he would get in the middle of a major crisis type mission, sometimes even in the middle of a staff meeting.

"Yeah, sorry, I keep trying to not be what they made me. But it's bringing out the worst in me, can't just let this go til I know we're all safe."

"I don't think we should take that ship," she said at once. Not for the first time, but with more decisiveness.

"Well, I don't even know if they want me to -- I haven't heard from Bettencourt, in the past four days, and you'd think they would say something by now. And I don't care about that so much any more. It looks like there's other important things afoot."

A faint smile, at that. "I know starship captains are masochists, well enough. But I wonder if you are aware of how much enjoyment you derive from these situations. Maybe you need a holodeck and some good AI programming instead of roses, when you finally retire?"

He laughed -- it hit him just right. She always knew what to say.

"I'm taking the girls to the beach next weekend," she said, picking up her coffee again. "Are you going to make me take armed guards?"

"Naw, just deLio and his family. Their kids are nearly big enough to hold off a troop or two all on their own."

"If you were anyone else I might accuse you of being paranoid. Drop me off at Starfleet Medical?"

They dropped the breakfast dishes in the recycler and went off to the flitter after a word to the computer to lock down the house. They had the route programmed and it took mere minutes to travel to San Francisco. After a kiss good-bye he watched Beverly leave the flitter and walk off toward the shining, towering edifice that was the main campus for Starfleet Medical. Once she was inside the building he told the computer to take him to the Picards' home.

Their vehicle was already gone, but he could tell someone was home. He'd had his implant scanning his surroundings since meeting with the admirals and discovering an active implant in one of them. One life form at home, in the kitchen. Deanna came to the door when he rang.

"I was just getting ready to go," she said. She was in uniform, looking as good in it as ever. "I'm supposed to head out to reinforce another vessel. What's up?"

"I thought I might get those things set up," he said, not wanting to name them until he was sure there were no listening devices in the house. "Like we talked about before?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you so much for helping us with the gardening," she said with a smile and a wink. "I actually have the computer set to let you come and go as you please. Since the kids are staying with friends and Jean-Luc is likely to be at the office late, and I might be back from the outskirts of the Federation in the morning, you'll have plenty of time."

"Right. I was thinking of putting a few more begonias in the courtyard, and those are notoriously difficult to transplant," he said, grinning at the thought of some Section agent having to look up best practices for transplanting begonias to verify that. "Have a great time transwarping off to save someone."

Deanna traded places with him, and he watched her contact McKinley and dematerialize, then went in and shut the door. Fidele was sitting in the foyer wagging his tail. The tall red hound always seemed eager to please.

"Hey, you want to help me today?" Tom put a device on the floor between them and tapped it. "We're going to be scanning the house for Section 31 hardware and reprogramming the computer with a stronger firewall."

"All right, Tom," Fidele said calmly. "What would you like me to do first?"

"Let's do a quick sweep, and then we'll see what we're up against."

After a complete scan around the outside of the house, they started to work through the interior. The kids' side was clean, as he expected, but he found a single listening device in the master bedroom. He shook his head -- the flat panel was stuck to the back of the bedside table, clearly an attempt to catch whatever the admiral would be talking about. He hadn't asked, but supposed that they shared that kind of information telepathically if they did it at all in the house.

He left it there. Gesturing for the dog to follow, he returned to the front of the house, and went to his flitter for the bag of hardware he'd put there the evening before.

"Are we removing the device?" Fidele asked.

"Not just yet. We have some work to do. You have some sort of port that you can be hardwired to the house computer? It would be faster and more secure."

"Yes, I have one at the base of my neck above my left shoulder."

"Good. Let's get to it. Looking for code that's suspicious."

 He left Fidele in the living room with the computer to scan code for a while, and returned to the front of the house, stepped outside into the yard for good measure and brought out his communicator. Not being on active duty, he had a handheld civilian model, but with Data's help reprogramming it, he could reach some specific people with it without accessing Starfleet networks.

"Glendenning to Data." He got in return a single tone, that meant Data was busy and he should record a message. The android was probably teaching one of his classes. "Data, I'm in the middle of something -- working at Jean-Luc's house. I have a favor to ask. Get back to me when you have time."

He turned to head back inside, but noticed a flitter approaching. Crossing his arms, Tom waited as it pulled up into the garage, and went inside to watch Jean-Luc come into the house. "I'm here to check things out and install some stuff. Didn't expect you home." He gestured over his shoulder toward the other side of the house, and pulled the device from his pocket to turn it on. 

"You found something," Jean-Luc said wearily. 

"In the bedroom of course."

Anger brought up the color in Jean-Luc's face, and then suddenly it was gone --- he staggered left a couple of steps and looked like he'd been shot. Tom caught his arm and guided him toward the front room, now redone with a long couch and several comfortable chairs, and once Jean-Luc was seated in a chair Tom studied him and wondered how long it would take to get help. But before he could activate the communicator in his hand again, Jean-Luc inhaled deeply and seemed to recover.

Then it occurred to him. "She just went to warp," he said. "Guess I didn't realize that still happened?"

Jean-Luc's glare was somewhat reassuring, and it faded fast. "Sorry. It hit me harder than I expected."

"Why the hell you put yourselves through it," Tom said, frowning. "And never mind, I know. How about something to drink? Coffee? And I'll show you where that thing is, and we'll get a perimeter set up."

"Nothing to drink, I'm limiting coffee intake to two cups in the morning. Let's see it."

They said nothing, as Tom showed him, and then went about setting up containment -- attaching devices to walls around the master bedroom -- to be sure nothing else said in the house was heard by the device. They returned to the front of the house and took a break, in the comfortable chairs, and Tom grabbed another coffee on the way through the kitchen. 

"I feel better now that the house is clear. What else are you doing?"

"Your dog is scanning your house computer for alterations since you moved in. I'm going up on the roof in a bit to wander around with the tricorder, just to be sure." Tom finally registered the conflict between Deanna's assumption that Jean-Luc would be home late and the current situation. "You know, I thought you'd be working all day?"

"I had a meeting this morning, and made a few calls. Then it occurred to me that the kids might react to their mother's absence and asked Soriah if I could work from home."

"Makes sense." Tom watched a brief wince flit across his friend's face. "Guess you didn't think you needed the time off but good thing, eh?"

The frustrated expression was very familiar, as Jean-Luc often wore it when Tom was in the room. Or when someone else was being somewhat invasive of his privacy. But it also seemed to wear on him, or perhaps it was just the reminder that Deanna was missing. "I stopped in on Mallory in his office. I invited him over for drinks after dinner, since everyone else is gone today. 

Tom felt himself stiffen at the thought. "If you want me to stick around for dinner, I've got the time."

"I appreciate your efforts, Tom. But he doesn't strike me as very dangerous at the moment."

"Yeah, I'm not so harmless either and neither are you," Tom said. "Give me a reason and it gets really dangerous."

"I haven't given him one. However, if you would like to stay to dinner, I would appreciate the company. It occurred to me that because the kids are supposed to be either at friends' houses or at Will's house, I'm here by myself."

"Will's house? I guess John is making progress?" Tom took a drink of coffee. It was replicated, but quite good.

"You could say that. All he needed was someone to listen to him for a while."

Which made some sense, if one knew the Picards, but did little to actually explain anything. Tom drank his coffee and sat with his friend for a bit, thinking about the problem of Mallory, where Deanna might have gone, and what the consequences of quietly shoving Mallory into a closet somewhere might be. His friends might completely disapprove of such an act but it would simplify things, he had to admit...

"Tom."

"I think dinner would be great," he replied, as if Jean-Luc's tone hadn't sounded worried. "Eat whatever we want without the ladies present to fuss about it. Verly has to work late today. Something about a study she's interested in."

"Tom," Jean-Luc repeated, not fooled by the deflection.

He sighed. "Jean-Luc."

"I appreciate your concern and the energy you are expending on our behalf. But -- "

"Look," Tom interjected, then took a moment to regroup. "Jean-Luc. I know you think I'm an alarmist. But this is how I see it. You and Dee got here to Earth, and then that thing happened with Pembroke. She thinks it's the Sisnok. I'm not convinced of that. The reporter got an anonymous tip, I think we should trace it. I think someone wanted to see if you were paying attention. I think someone is testing your defenses."

This was enough to widen the admiral's eyes, and he was taking him seriously enough to ask, "What makes you think it isn't the Sisnok?"

"After we took out that base, I went through some of what we downloaded from the computer. Data and I are going to review it again. Some of it indicates they were trying to develop telepathy in agents. In humans, actually. Because of course they were just fine with genetic modification despite the ban."

Jean-Luc's mouth tilted and a brow rose. "Tom -- "

"I know, not proof. Hang on for the moment until I'm done." Tom put aside his mostly-empty cup, and settled in for the explanation, starting to talk with his hands as was his habit. "Remember when you brought her home after the incident with Pembroke, and she kept talking about the incident? How she couldn't keep her story straight? That's precisely what the Section would want to happen."

"Are you saying that Captain Pembroke is Section 31, keeping himself in a coma, and that he had the wherewithal to damage Deanna's mind? Or that the Section is now using other species to attempt to take over the Federation?"

Tom snorted. "I'm saying that someone at Starfleet Medical may have taken advantage of her attempts to help Pembroke to cover an attack on her. That the damage may have had two causes, rather than one. It isn't outside the realm of possibility that the disciples of the Section who are left behind might want revenge, or more likely, to remove people who know too much so they can once more operate more openly. Beverly and your friend Mengis both said that what happened to her was probably intentional. Helping people that way has never been dangerous to her."

"Right after she woke up she said that it was a trap," Jean-Luc said. "That was not something she forgot."

"But you're assuming it was one the Sisnok set, and I'm not. I think someone was fully aware of when you came to Earth, and watching for opportunities."

"If that's the case, why haven't they been attacking you? You've been here for a couple of years."

"That's where this gets very interesting. Because there were a couple of people who Deanna encountered on that space station years ago, who I did not, who do not know I was part of the plot to thwart the Section. They only saw Deanna. And they happen to be the kind of people who I'd expect to be loyalists, agents you'd expect to pick up where they left off, given the chance."

Jean-Luc stared at him now with serious eyes. He might not have to fully line out the entire thing, after all, all the little things that he'd added up to a great big problem.

"We need to know which one of the two agents is currently masquerading as Mallory," Tom said softly. "I tried to locate them through the normal channels, once I started to suspect something was afoot. It's as though they vanished. Not dead. Just a list of activities that abruptly ends, when the station was destroyed. I think they escaped the station and took new identities, and waited. I think they are helping each other. And I think you and the kids are more likely to be targets."

"You know their names. So who are they?"

Tom debated, as obviously Deanna hadn't told her husband. He wished he knew if she'd had some reason not to, as he didn't like handing out information that she might not want to share. But at this point he doubted it would matter. "Terrell Justman, and Kyle Riker."

It stunned Jean-Luc. He stared intently at Tom, long enough that it started to be worrisome. But he flinched, and he looked tired again. "She thinks Riker is dead. But you think he's alive?"

Tom nodded slowly. "She didn't kill him. Neither did I. She left him locked in a room, which likely led to his departure on a shuttle or escape pod. I didn't think about it much at the time because we had a few other things going on that took most of our focus away from trivial things such as whether Kyle could hack his way past a lockout."

"You think Mallory might be Will's father," Jean-Luc said, still working through it. "But Deanna would have recognized him."

"Not necessarily."

Jean-Luc sat for a moment longer. Now he was thinking, and narrowing his eyes. "You're staying for dinner, then?"

"And drinks." Tom gave him a mercenary grin. "I'm going up to check the roof. Then that'll be done, and we'll figure out what to do about security for the kids."

"I thought we'd already taken care of that, but I suppose it's worth discussing."

Tom nodded, and left his friend there to head outside. By the time he came back in, having ensured that there was nothing on the outside of the house that should not be there, Jean-Luc was in his office; when Tom approached he could hear the admiral's voice through the door, and so he backed off and went to check on Fidele rather than eavesdrop. He disconnected the dog from the house computer and brought him back to the front of the house as Jean-Luc emerged from the other wing.

"I just spoke with Admiral Bettencourt. It sounds like Deanna will be home later tonight rather than first thing in the morning. The situation was resolved more quickly than anticipated," he said.

"Good. That means you might get some sleep," Tom said.

Rather than an irritated scowl, Jean-Luc nodded. "Indeed. Did you find anything?"

"Nope. Want to walk down to the bakery Dee likes so much and get us something for dessert? You have a dog, we should walk him."

Jean-Luc did a subtle double take. "So you can give the neighborhood a scan, and look for anything out of the ordinary."

" _Now_ you're starting to get the hang of it."


	23. Not Standard Issue

"I appreciate the ride home," Janeway said.

Deanna smiled at Kathryn across the desk in her ready room -- half the size of the one on the _Enterprise_ , and she'd had it done in shades of blue instead of standard issue. She picked up the tall glass mug of coffee she'd been nursing for half an hour, since they'd stepped down from red alert and headed for Earth. They had anticipated repairing the _Newton_ but the engineers had all agreed that would take long enough to do that the crew at large would be at risk, as their opponent's reinforcements were likely to descend upon them at any time. So after consulting with the admirals, Kathryn had set the auto destruct and they'd watched the death of the _Isaac Newton_ from the bridge of the  _Hermes_ , sad to see her ship become the latest victim of the volley of attacks on Federation vessels. Though she'd been able to destroy the other vessel, her own had been disabled.

"I'm sure you'll be back in space soon. There are more Expediter vessels coming out soon, if you don't care for science any more," Deanna said.

Kathryn laughed, her eyes sparkling. While she was obviously tired, she relaxed in the chair and regarded her hostess with affection. "I'm sure we'll find a good vessel. I'll miss the _Newton,_ though. What an unexpected end for a fine vessel."

"Hopefully they give you some leave before you are redeployed. I regret not taking time off before diving into the next adventure."

"How exciting though, to be on the first of the new fleet of Starfleet transwarp vessels," Kathryn exclaimed, waving her hands at the ready room. Her mood shifted, followed by a slight frown. "Are you all right? Because you've been serious, which I would expect on duty, but this was a successful mission on a new vessel and you just don't seem happy to me."

"I have four children, Kathryn. We have a house, and friends who are in and out constantly." Deanna smiled at the thought of it. "Forgive me for being a little tired."

"And saying that you look even more tired." Kathryn was concerned, and studied her with the same intensity she'd likely had for every mission for years. "Then Annika came to Earth --it probably only added to the burden."

"Not as much as before. Annika found a job and we helped her move into Starfleet housing -- we were able to pull some strings for her, get her a small place and neighbors who are less likely to show overt curiosity about her differences." Deanna took another sip, pausing to check -- she had been reaching for Jean-Luc every so often, as they sped toward home. She knew they had less than an hour to go, and each time, her sense of him grew stronger.

"I'm glad -- she did let me know about the job, at least," Kathryn said. "She's responding to my messages again, thank goodness. It's not clear to me what I did wrong, but I tried to apologize to her."

Deanna said nothing, contemplated getting something to eat as she'd had nothing since breakfast, but continued to sip coffee.

"Why do I get the feeling I interfered with something you were trying to do with her," Kathryn said after a few moments.

"Annika has had to learn many things over the years she's been with us that most of us learned as children," Deanna explained patiently yet again. "Emotional habits and resilience were not easy for her to develop. Her 'dates' while aboard the  _Enterprise_ were tame, not at all passionate affairs that so many teens experience, and while she thought she had worked through some of what she needed to learn she obviously had not -- so many of the things we take for granted as part of the process of becoming an adult have been overwhelming for her. She has always demanded to be treated as an equal, able to make her own decisions, and I've always advocated with Jean-Luc to let her do that despite some of the consequences she's had. And now she has finally reached a point where she is relying on me for emotional support more than before, instead of isolating herself. So I think that you will find a way to repair the rift with her, if you give her time to work through it."

Kathryn sighed, accepting this. "So I did interfere."

"No more than anything else has. I'm not her therapist, after all. Letting her explore life as she chooses is as intentional as I've been, for the past few years." 

"Well. I'll look forward to mending fences and let her do it on her own time, then. How is Yves?"

Deanna smiled, at the continued affection Kathryn felt for her children. "He's doing very well, at the moment, after a rough transition to the ground. They all are." She decided not to mention her recent injury and the fallout just yet. The children had recovered from it, mostly. 

"Good. If I do get some time off, perhaps you'll let us borrow the kids for a while? Ros and Nina ask about the twins often."

"If they have any time left in their schedules I'm sure they'd love to. It might be difficult - they all seem to have taken up horticulture, working for Tom in his rose gardens."

Deanna sensed the first officer's sudden change of mood, and as Kathryn opened her mouth to reply, the comm chirped. "Bridge to Troi. Captain, we're ten minutes from McKinley."

"Thank you, Mr. Sedgewick. I'll be right out." She glanced at Kathryn. "Coming?"

Deanna took her chair on the bridge seconds before the drop out of transwarp. Kathryn sat down at her left hand, where the counselor would be if there were one aboard, and smiled at the screen. As the shift to normal space occurred, the usual violet light show flared on the main viewer, then shifted and dissolved leaving the view of sector 001 as the McKinley Space Station rose into view. Mr. Monroe had dropped them almost in place at spacedock.

"You're getting better, Mr. Monroe," Deanna said with a smile. "Soon you'll be setting us down on the street in front of my house."

A little laughter, all around the bridge, at that. She relaxed and almost automatically did the internal check-in -- all the members of her family, by blood or by choice, were within range of her empathy. Fortunately, the children were all in varying states of happy and busy. Unfortunately, the adults were not. Tom Glendenning continued to be on high alert. Jean-Luc was relieved that she'd returned, and as she initiated contact she received information that she found concerning, to say the least.

Kathryn noticed; as they waited the minutes it took for the ship to dock along the perimeter of McKinley, she kept glancing Deanna's way, questions in her eyes. Deanna rallied enough to smile as her immediate superior contacted them.

"Admiral Picard is contacting us, sir," deLio announced. 

"Put it through, deLio."

The viewer remained on a view forward of the space station in front of them. "Captain, welcome home. Admiral Bettencourt informed me that you successfully recovered the crew of the  _Isaac Newton_. We'll meet at Starfleet Command in the morning for the debriefing with Captain Janeway."

"Yes, sir. We'll be transporting our passengers to Starfleet Medical and to Starfleet housing as appropriate."

"Excellent. I will see you in the morning. Thank you, to you and your crew. Picard out."

After the channel closed, Sedgewick stifled a chuckle. Deanna frowned at him, then contacted sickbay to begin the transfer of the wounded first, instructing deLio to contact Starfleet Medical on their behalf. Then she encouraged the crew of the late  _Isaac Newton_ to head for the transporter rooms, and waited while the transport process was under way. Kathryn still gave her the concerned face but said farewell for now, to join her own family. 

It took too long. But finally she said good bye to the bridge crew, and left herself. When she materialized on the front lawn, it was after sunset, the front of the house illuminated by lights that they'd set to come on after dark. She let herself in quietly and stood in the front of the house without asking for the lights. She heard muted voices from the entry, which meant they must be in the courtyard. She moved slowly to the dining room and stayed in shadow as she peered out from the dark room into the well-lit courtyard. 

Jean-Luc was seated at the table, across from him was Mallory, the admiral they knew to be an imposter. Both were still in uniform. The bottle between them, a tall crystal decanter, said they'd been drinking Andorian ale. She knew they had been discussing issues just as two co-workers would, and that Jean-Luc had been trying to glean some hint of what the man was up to, but so far that was failing. Tom was somewhere in the house; she could sense him waiting, like a predator coiled to spring.

The question was what to do about the situation. In the end, she opted to do as any officer coming home to her family might do. Mallory likely had the implant scanning for anyone in the vicinity. As she came out into the courtyard she noticed Fidele reclining nearby, one ear erect, the other folded -- that was his programmed posture when he was on high alert for any threat to their family.

Jean-Luc wasn't drunk. He'd been sipping and trying to establish some rapport with the other admiral. As she approached he smiled up at her wearily and nodded. "Welcome home, Captain."

Deanna pulled out the chair at the small round table and sat down between them. The larger table off to the left was clear and all the chairs pushed in. From all appearances they were the only ones in the house, and Deanna could now tell that Tom had to be waiting in one of the kids' rooms, probably behind a few of those scrambler devices he and Data had come up with to confuse Section 31's usual array of sensors.

"I'll bet it's good to be home," Mallory exclaimed.

There was something about him that concerned her. Rather than continue to maintain her shields and ignore his anger, she actively probed -- it was not Kyle Riker, nor anyone else she recognized, behind that face. But she couldn't tell what he was thinking. And there was something familiar....

She felt his anger, and then realized she was losing consciousness. She pushed back, hard, and before she knew it she was on her feet -- staring down at him as he glared up at her. Tom was right, then. The Section had been experimenting with the development of telepathy in humans. His face now showed his anger, and he sat forward in the chair, starting to move toward her.

Jean-Luc was in motion, and it surprised her -- he had stood up as well, and now hit his badge, once, twice, and that was summoning Starfleet security, it was how the comm badges were programmed now. Since Mallory knew that, of course he reacted by lunging toward him.

Deanna went at Mallory as he came up out of the chair in a fluid movement -- he aimed at Jean-Luc, and when she knocked the table in his path on her way to intercept he didn't hesitate to swing about and lunge at her. He punched her full in the face, and as she fell pain blossomed, likely a broken nose. And before she could recover enough she heard movement -- Mallory screamed, and the scuffling continued, and then she heard Tom shouting.

Then she realized the pain was not just in her face, but the back of her head. And gravity seemed to be pulling her down into darkness.

 

 


	24. Just a Little Help From My Friends

Soriah Bettencourt arrived at Starfleet Medical and was directed to the second floor waiting area. It was one of the smaller ones, and at the moment full of people -- she hesitated, but recognized that they must all be together. The Picard children were among them; she recognized them from the picture on Picard's desk. Most turned to the sound of the door and watched her come in. Soriah nodded to the onlookers and moved to the corner of the room that remained mostly unoccupied.

"Admiral Bettencourt?"

She stopped short of her intended seat and turned to face the young man -- the older son, she thought, as the boy had facial features of both Picard and Troi. "Yes?"

"I'm Yves Picard," he said, taking another step. He surprised her by speaking a Vulcan greeting -- with a bad accent, but better than Téo's had ever been.

"I greet you as well," she replied in Standard. "I am hoping to speak to your father. I expect he may be with your mother."

The pain that crossed the young man's face told the tale eloquently. "He's trying to get her to wake up. They aren't telling us much about why she isn't."

Soriah glanced at the people watching -- three younger children, another boy with blond hair, a woman with her arm around the boy who was clearly his mother, and a man in casual clothes sat next to them. She had gotten the call from Picard, that there had been an attack, that he had been speaking to Mallory and then Deanna had come home. That morning, she had asked for and gotten the reports from security -- there was an investigation under way, but it would likely be short and straightforward.

"Do you mind if I wait with you for a while?" Soriah asked.

Yves gestured at a seat closer to the group, and so she sat down with him sitting on her left, in chairs facing the others. "This is Admiral Riker, and Dr. Riker, and John -- and my sisters Amy and Cordelia, and my brother Jean-Pierre,"  Yves said.

"A pleasure to meet you all," Soriah said, noting the surprise in the faces of the adults -- generally humans did not expect geniality from a Vulcan. "I too am quite concerned."

A door opened at the other end of the room, and Dr. Crusher emerged. She scanned the waiting group with a defeated expression.

"You can't make us leave," Jean-Pierre announced, belligerent, making it clear this idea had been suggested before.

The adults smiled, as did Yves. Dr. Crusher came forward a few more paces. "Nothing's changed. She's still not awake, but she's not deteriorating and she isn't in pain. So I'm afraid you'll be waiting longer."

"May I speak to you, Doctor?"

Rank had its privileges; Dr. Crusher gestured at the door, and Soriah followed her as far as the first junction in the corridors beyond. Then the doctor turned into a door into what was clearly her office. "I would like to know the captain's prognosis," Soriah said.

"I wish I could answer that." Crusher crossed her arms, a gesture Soriah recognized well. Humans did it all the time, usually when feeling defensive or frustrated. "I'd say it was good, but she isn't waking up."

"Have you attempted telepathic contact with her?" Crusher frowned. When she didn't reply, Soriah went on. "Admiral Picard informed me that it's believed that a telepathic injury is the source of this issue. Surely there is someone with similar ability to hers, who would be able to make the attempt."

"Oh -- we have attempted to recruit other empaths, but I'm afraid that's failed," Crusher exclaimed. "Believe me, I wish we had found someone who could help her."

"I would like to make the attempt."

Crusher pursed her lips. "I hadn't thought about asking a Vulcan healer."

"I am not a healer. But I have had contact with her mind in the recent past. It is one of the few things that I know, that contact with familiar minds can assist -- it's why her husband is with her, yes?"

Crusher's blue eyes narrowed as she considered this. "True. It's helped her recover in the past."

"But he is not a telepath. Perhaps someone who has more control over their ability would be of more help."

Crusher exhaled slowly, in the way humans had -- trying to regulate their emotions with changes to body chemistry was a common tactic, and quite obvious to anyone who took notice of their body language. "Come with me."

She followed Crusher out of the office, down the corridor, and into one of the rooms. Intensive care, Picard looked up from the unconscious body of his wife, bleary-eyed and tired, and stood upon seeing his supervisor entering the room.

"How is she?" Soriah asked.

Picard almost wilted at the question. "I wish I knew."

"I know that if it were Téo, I would be bereft," she said, glancing at Crusher as the doctor studied the readouts on the other side of the biobed. "With your permission I would like to attempt to help."

"Oh," Picard said. He was puzzled by it. "If you think that it might -- I did not realize you might be able to."

"I did as you requested -- contacted Betazed, to see if one of their neurosurgeons might be able to come. One of them is abroad and the other is sympathetic but is unable to be here for seven days. In the interim, I would like to try."

He looked to Crusher. Both of them knew, because Picard had said that Crusher had told him, that nothing so far had worked.

"I understand that she was in a similar state before, and that she recovered. What was it that led to her recovery?" Soriah asked, looking down at the pale face of Deanna Troi in repose.

"We don't know," Crusher said. "I would assume that she healed on her own."

"May I have a few moments with her?"

After exchanging a dubious look with each other, they stepped out of the room. Soriah stepped up to the bed, placed her fingertips gently on Deanna's temple, and attempted to find the lively, vibrant katra she'd touched before. It only took a moment to determine that she couldn't sense anything more than Deanna's presence, and she stepped back again. Turning, she stepped out in the corridor where Crusher and Picard were waiting.

"I am very sorry," she said, watching both of them look sad. "I was unable to reach her."

"Thank you," Picard said quietly. He turned and went back in.

"Did you sense anything at all?" Crusher asked.

"Unfortunately I did not; she appears to be . I will be in the waiting room with the others."

Crusher nodded, attempted a smile, and followed Picard into the room. Soriah returned to the waiting room where everyone looked up at her hopefully until she took her place next to Yves without speaking.

"I wish Maman would wake up," Cordelia said plaintively, leaning on Riker's wife again.

"So do I," Yves said, slumping. "It's been almost two days."

Soriah sat straight in her chair and thought about Deanna's mind, as it was now and as it had been before, and as she contemplated the difference something caught her attention. Some sort of resonance, that reminded her of Deanna. She looked at Yves, who was sitting with bowed head and seemed to be thinking hard.

"You are very focused," she commented.

It confirmed that what she was sensing was from him; the distraction disrupted the resonance. The boy's hazel eyes met hers, and with her mental shields still set aside, she could sense the sharp, brief pressure of his mind -- obviously the ratio of Betazoid to human genetics was not a factor in determining the talent in a Betazoid hybrid. And it was unusual for her to sense this without physical contact, as Vulcans were generally touch telepaths. She supposed that attempting to meld with his mother and not having the opportunity to meditate and re-establish her shields would be why it was even possible.

"I know I'm not strong enough, but I keep trying to reach her," he confessed.

"That's why you look tired," Riker said. "I don't think she'd want you to do that, Yves."

Yves felt a spark of anger that showed in his face, and then gave a sidelong glance at Soriah. He didn't like that challenge. She supposed her presence might be the only thing that kept him from saying something. His siblings were all staring at him wide-eyed, and John Riker leaned forward a little.

"I believe that there is hope," Soriah said. "It would be illogical to expect you to stop trying to help your mother. In fact, I will assist you, if you wish."

She held out a hand, an act that startled their audience. Yves took it without hesitation. The physical contact was all she needed; she touched his mind gently, and he responded. Refocused, and looked her in the eye, thinking about how she was nearly as strong as his mother. He was like his mother, though less practiced. Soriah suspected that his mother's guidance had a strong influence; he was sharp, observant, and had an orderly mind, so while he was very worried about his mother, he wasn't flooding Soriah with those emotions. 

_You should focus on her now._

He thought about the incident weeks ago, that had been similar to this, and how he had done the same. Focused on her. As he did so now, Soriah allowed him to draw on her for strength. He gripped her fingers tightly and closed his eyes.

When the response from Deanna came, it disrupted the connection -- but he was on his feet immediately. So were his siblings, who were obviously paying close attention. Cordelia was on her feet, excited, darting toward the door. "She's awake!" Amy exclaimed, following her sister.

"Cordie," Riker exclaimed. "You should wait here, guys."

But the door opened, and Picard was there, smiling happily. "Come on," he exclaimed. He caught Cordelia in his arms briefly before turning to lead the way back to Deanna's room.

Soriah stood up with Yves, intending to leave for her office, but the boy wouldn't let go of her hand. "She wants to see you."

She let herself be drawn along with him. The Rikers went as well, though they hung back in the corridor while the children went in the room with Picard. Soriah stopped, intending to do the same, but Yves pulled her in with him. Dr. Crusher left the room as they were going in, smiling; she turned down the corridor toward her office.

Deanna was awake and sitting up, and the twins were the first to reach her. Amy waited her turn to hug her mother. Yves finally released Soriah's hand so he could go to lean in and kiss his mother's cheek.

"You're all going back to the waiting room to wait for us -- Beverly says she can go home, and that will happen faster without a crowd," Picard announced.

It nearly cleared the room -- the younger children were overjoyed and ran out, and Dr. Riker walked with them back down the corridor. Admiral Riker stood in the open door, looking in and apparently waited for Yves.

 "The admiral helped," Yves said to his father. 

"Yes. We'll be out shortly," Picard said, nodding toward the door. Yves grinned, shot a look at Soriah, and left without further comment. 

"Glad you're awake -- talk to you later," Riker said, turning to follow the boy and letting the door shut behind him.

Deanna sat up, shoving aside the thin blanket, and swung her bare feet out to dangle off the side. She put a hand to her hair, which had been braided but was escaping it. "Thank you, Admiral."

"I did very little, in fact. I was unable to reach you with a meld. While in the waiting room I noticed your son was actually making a tentative connection that I was unable to manage, and was able to lend him some of my intention to follow through and help you." Soriah raised an eyebrow. "You said that you were the only one with the ability to heal that way. I think that is no longer true."

"I suppose not," Deanna said. She didn't look happy about it. "What happened to Mallory?"

Picard was bringing back clothing from the replicator on the other side of the room for her. He dropped it on the end of the biobed, and then leaned on the bed. "He's dead."

"I supposed so. But did you find out who he was?"

"Someone named Justman, apparently, with some modifications that might have fooled a less thorough medical practitioner," Picard said. "Fidele is with Data, until he's repaired. Tom is sitting in the courtyard on the lookout for what he suspects will follow -- he thinks the man might not be working alone. He thinks Justman was after revenge but also hasn't ruled out that someone believes we represent a risk to anyone hoping to continue Section 31."

That hadn't been in the report Picard had submitted about the incident. Then again, including the Section in any report anywhere in the system was perhaps a bad idea, the more Soriah thought about the situation. "I would like to discuss this further. I anticipate there are details that were not included in the official report?"

"We can come to the office in the morning and debrief," Deanna said. "Thank you for helping me. I appreciate everything you've done."

"I regret that I was not more proactive -- I thought that your plan of not 'tipping our hand', so to speak, was a better choice than direct confrontation, for all the reasons we've discussed. That he was willing to act against you at the first opportunity suggests it was personal. What do you think?"

"I suspect you are correct," Picard said. "The two remaining questions -- are there more agents to come who were working with him, and how do we handle them when they make themselves known? But that should be made clear to us as time passes."

Soriah nodded. "I will have my assistant contact you -- I have a meeting in the morning, but I will have him schedule with you following its conclusion. I expect you will inform me if you are not feeling well enough to attend, Deanna."

The tired smile said that likely Deanna would need the rest. "I'll do that. Thank you for the consideration."

Soriah passed through the waiting room -- the children were discussing what they wanted to make for dinner, so clearly they anticipated their parents would be occupied -- and nodded in passing to Admiral Riker and his wife on the way through to the lift. She still had questions, but expected there would be answers forthcoming.


	25. Anytime, Anywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was out of town, and then got back to a mess of paperwork and backed up tasks, and literally was eking out a few lines a day for a while. I'll get back on track soon.

The kitchen was empty when Deanna got there the following morning, but there were dishes left on the counter next to the replicator that suggested the twins had been there already and not recycled their plates. She tipped them in the slot and asked for a large coffee, and tied her robe more tightly as it materialized. It was getting chilly out in the morning as the season turned, so she went to the dining room, sat at the head of the table, and took advantage of the quiet. No doubt the kids would be there shortly.

Yves was the first one to make an appearance. Instead of heading in for food, he came to sit next to her and prop an elbow on the table. He was still wearing his black pajamas and hadn't combed his hair.

"You look tired too," she said.

"I know you're not back to normal or you would sense the headache," he said.

Deanna sighed and sipped her sweet, hot, black coffee. "I do feel numb-headed this morning. How are you feeling, other than the headache?"

"It's kind of like the way you feel. Exhausted, no energy. Not the kind of tired you have before bed, after a long day."

"Did you intend to heal me?" Deanna asked. She'd wanted to ask yesterday, but after getting home it had been obvious that everyone was tired and needed sleep. Discussion had been limited to what was necessary to get everyone fed and off to bed early.

Yves shook his head, his expression one of dismay. "I didn't know I was even trying. The admiral said she would assist me. I didn't know what she meant by that, and then there was this feeling -- it was like the time you helped me, the way you help officers heal sometimes. It shocked me. And then we could tell you were awake, everyone was excited and you asked me to bring the admiral in with us."

"You may not have done anything other than attempt to reach me," Deanna said, thinking out loud. "You were unable to do that until the admiral helped you. She attempted to reach me herself, but was unable to do so. Whatever happened to me was that damaging, that I couldn't find my way back. While I appreciate that you helped I don't want you to do it again. I don't think you should overextend yourself. You're young, your brain is still developing."

"But I didn't try," Yves blurted.

"Perhaps he needs training so he recognizes when he is trying," Jean-Luc said, arriving in uniform and holding his own mug of coffee. He sat down next to Yves to put his mug on the dining room table. "I don't believe you've ever mentioned a Betazoid school of telepathy?"

"No, I haven't. And I don't believe there is one to mention. There are practices, which I never became well versed in myself as Mother was not particularly fond of discipline. My grandfather might have taught me if he hadn't died." Deanna wished there were more family members left in the house of Troi. Her cousins were, as many Betazoids tended to be, not focused on mental disciplines. Baymei was slowly succumbing to the infirmities of old age. 

"I wish the admiral could help me," Yves said.

That took Deanna aback, and also startled Jean-Luc, who glanced at her with a raised eyebrow in his best imitation of a Vulcan.

"Because I could tell she had complete control over -- everything," Yves added, nervously glancing back and forth at them, uncertain of how to interpret their surprise. "She knew what I was doing even though I didn't."

"If you want to send a message to the admiral you can do so," Jean-Luc said. "She seemed to like you. She let you hold her hand -- Vulcan generally do not like to be touched. They're touch telepaths, and usually prefer to maintain privacy."

"Okay," Yves said. He relaxed and smiled at the reassurance. Then yawned, followed by both of them yawning in turn. "I guess I should go shower and get ready for school."

"I think you should go back to bed, if you're as tired as I am you will probably fall asleep in class," Deanna said. "Your father can let the school know you'll be home when he drops your brother and sisters off."

Yves turned to his father, who waved a thumb at the door, and rose to wander off to his room. He wasn't his usual self, obviously; he'd lost the bounce in his step. And he liked school. He didn't like to miss, and going without protest said that he was indeed exhausted.

"You're going back to bed as well, yes?" Jean-Luc murmured.

"There are many people who will converge on the house shortly. Kathryn and Chakotay are here on Earth now. I was supposed to be in a briefing yesterday morning about that incident, and they will be concerned that my first officer was there in my place. No doubt there are messages from them. And then there will be my mother."

"I really wish she had better timing," Jean-Luc said with a sigh. Mother's visit had been arranged weeks before, following one of her diplomatic endeavors on the behalf of the Federation -- she would descend on them with souvenirs and gifts and much joy, to take the kids off to a vacation in the Azores for a week during one of the school breaks.

"Maybe it's good timing. Maybe you can get the week off and we can go nap on a beach in Spain."

That brought out a genuine smile, rather than a tentative one. "A good thought, and worth discussing, but later. Go to bed. Tom will be here momentarily to scold you if you don't. Why are you drinking coffee?"

"I don't need babysitting, honestly," she protested, rising from the chair. "The coffee was just enough to keep me awake to reassure Yves. Please call me if you find out anything more about potential Section 31 agents in your office, I don't like suspense when it comes to them."

"Yes. Go on." He leaned in and kissed her, and carried his coffee toward the front door. "Cordelia! Pierre! Amy!"

Deanna waited, and here they came to hug her -- the clinginess was back -- and then she watched them all race off to the garage. She heard the door shut and turned to go back to the bedroom. It took no time at all to fall asleep.

She woke much later, or so the clock beside the bed claimed -- it was nearly lunch time. Her stomach had been her alarm. She'd eaten no breakfast so it wanted lunch. She put her robe back on and meandered into the kitchen, her hazy thoughts wandering around what kind of food her stomach wanted. She was sitting down with a bowl of Betazoid salad when the computer alerted her to someone at the door.

She had to go answer it to see who it was. Being numb-brained was inconvenient. But all it took was a single look at Annika's face to see something was amiss. "Come in, I was sitting down to lunch -- did you work today?"

Annika nodded, the dismay and fear in her face plain to see even though Deanna couldn't sense much from her. She wore a white blouse and gray skirt, one of the plain and serviceable outfits she'd chosen for work. She stepped inside, and as the door shut behind her she seemed to study Deanna with concern. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Have lunch with me. It's difficult being unable to sense much."

They sat down in the courtyard with salads, and just doing something normal seemed to steady Annika. She looked less upset as she nibbled leaves off her fork. After a while Deanna decided to set aside silence. "What's happened that upset you?"

Annika struggled to avoid crying. She dropped her fork in the bowl and sat quietly, and must have decided that answering was more important than maintaining composure. " _He_ came to the café this morning."

Deanna was completely taken aback -- but of course, the man who had broken Annika's heart would be on Earth. She'd brought the crew of the _Newton_ back with her. He was part of it. And Starfleet housing was not far from the cafe. "So what did you do?"

"I -- took his order. I brought it back to him. I managed to -- and then after he left I went in the back -- Bryan let me leave early," Annika said brokenly.

"I see. You did as well as anyone does, handling such a confrontation, then." 

Annika blinked at her, wide-eyed. "I did?"

"This is the point where humans tell each other stories of similar incidents and embarrassments, to help the suffering to understand that it's normal and they aren't alone." Deanna smiled, fearing that her weariness might be showing. 

"Oh." Annika thought about that. When she looked up from her salad, she frowned. "You are still tired. I shouldn't have come."

"I would still want to know this, so I'm glad you came. Also I dislike being left alone to convalesce. I'm wondering if you might also have heard from Kathryn, since she and her family and crew are all in fleet housing as well."

That hadn't occurred to Annika, from the shocked look. She shook her head. "I didn't realize. So he might be one of my neighbors."

"You can always stay here. Cordelia wouldn't mind a roommate."

"No," Annika said faintly. "I shouldn't let him influence my life that way. I'm not going to quit my job."

That suggested she'd been tempted to, and was calming down and thinking it through. Deanna smiled faintly and started to eat again.

They were recycling the dishes when the computer set off the door chime again. She left Annika finishing her meal to go answer, and when the door slid back she found Tom smiling at her. "There you are," he exclaimed, holding out his arms. She stepped forward for a hug.

"I'm having lunch with Annika. What brings you to my door?" she asked.

"You, of course. I came by this morning but you were asleep so went to do my rounds of all the florists, and here I am to make sure you're all right."

She led him inside, and out into the courtyard. Annika smiled at him. "Good afternoon."

"Hey, pigeon," Tom exclaimed, dropping to sit in the chair between them. "What's shaking?"

Deanna grinned happily at the affectation, which said that Tom was doing more than just tolerating Annika. "He means what's going on," she put in mildly, as the slang had confused her.

"I have to come up with new slang, you're too good at it," he exclaimed, waving a hand dramatically at Deanna. "You look better. Maybe you got some sleep?"

"I did indeed, and I shall again soon. Maybe you can tell me what happened to me, now that you're here?"

That sobered both her guests. Annika had obviously heard something; she watched Tom out of the corner of her eye, and waited for him to speak.

"Well," he said, haltingly. "I got here right when Fidele took him down. Security beamed down a few seconds after he took Fidele's head off."

Annika was angry, as was Deanna. But they waited for him to go on.

"I might have overreacted," Tom added after a pause. "He was a little worse for wear when everyone showed up."

Deanna sighed. She glanced down at the pavement, and saw that whoever had cleaned up had done a good job. One would never know blood had been shed here.

The front door opened -- they all heard the distant hiss of the pneumatics through the open double doors -- and in a few seconds Jean-Luc was there, approaching with flowers and hardly hesitating in his delivery upon seeing they had guests. He placed the bunch of roses wrapped in paper in Deanna's hands and leaned to kiss her forehead. His hesitant manner raised questions, as she still felt numb-headed and couldn't "hear" him as per usual.

"I wonder where you got these?" she asked, sly and shooting a look at Tom.

"They might be Tom's, but the florist I pass on the way home was where I stopped," he said. "I need to talk to you."

Annika stood up at once. "Is there anything I can do? Anything you'd like me to pick up?"

"Bev and I are bringing dinner around six. Bring dessert," Tom said.

Annika nodded -- it pleased her to be included, and she'd been helping with the baking at the café. "A pie."

"Something for a sweet tooth who loves chocolate, I think," he said, turning to walk her out. "I have work to do in the front -- call me if you need me, Dee."

Jean-Luc sat down in the chair Tom had vacated, and faced her with a more serious expression. "I haven't been able to sense anything from you. How are you?"

"I'm fine. I was sleeping until hunger woke me, and then Annika showed up. Her ex was in the café this morning and while she handled it well she needed the support. I still can't sense much of anything, but I know we're all right."

He nodded. "I know. I don't sense any loss. It's just... too quiet. I spent my morning trying to pay attention in meetings instead of worrying about you. Soriah asked after you and sent you her well wishes."

"And?"

His mouth twitched into a line. "I am in no way attempting to pressure you into anything. But the Breen finally stopped feinting and attacked a Federation installation on Napoli Ten."

"Oh," Deanna said softly.

"Vessels have been dispatched, of course. Yours included - Sedgewick went without you. Picking up wounded and dropping off resources."

She frowned. "I wish I had been able to stop Mallory. Whoever he was."

"As do I -- under normal circumstances you would have, but it was obvious that he was interfering telepathically," he said. "You were moving as if underwater, and I've seen you take out Tom in a fair fight."

"Tell me he didn't hurt you," she blurted.

He couldn't do it. Tight-lipped, he said, "I've had worse."

She caught the sob with a hand over her mouth. It took a moment to recover. "Tom saved our lives again."

"And Fidele, who I'm told will return soon," he said. "Data contacted me this morning."

"Do you think there is another agent coming for us?"

Jean-Luc wasn't happy about that thought. Tom had made no secret of his worries, that looked so much less like paranoia than before. "I haven't seen anyone exhibiting suspicious behavior in our vicinity. I realize at this point Tom would remind us that we wouldn't notice a veteran Section 31 agent trained to not appear suspicious, but I'd like to think I'm at least observant enough to notice anything unusual."

Deanna smiled and began shaking her head, thinking about this situation and how everything hadn't changed as much as they had hoped. "I wonder if we are ever going to find the time to do something other than defend ourselves or the Federation."

His smile was brief. "This isn't what I intended to discuss."

"I would like to talk about other things as well. Or not talk at all." She was starting to feel weary again, and it must have shown in her face. He was looking at her sharply. "What did you intend to discuss?"

He hesitated, but must have decided there really was no good time for it. "I think we should reconsider some of the choices we've made."

"I know it's been stressful," she began, but he raised his eyes and looked so desolate that she stopped rationalizing. "You haven't told me everything. Have you?"

"I have been going back and forth for weeks about what to say. I'm certain you know how I feel."

"Like you are at an impasse," she said, summing up what she had sensed here and there when he'd been most frustrated. "What impasse? Is it about your job, or mine?"

He leaned back in the chair, shaking his head, almost laughing at himself. The smile faded fast as he stared at the pavers at his feet and thought about his answer. "I don't know. I think I'm still having difficulty adjusting -- and I am tired of watching you be hurt," he said, as if ashamed of himself.

"I know. Jean," she said quietly, and waited for him to look at her. "We haven't had a chance to really settle. I'm hoping that we will now -- that there really isn't anyone else coming to attack us."

He didn't like that answer, but she doubted he would have liked any other -- she guessed that at the heart of it he wanted too many things at once. To see her excel in Starfleet meant the increased risk of being hurt or killed, which he was tired of enduring, and he refused on principle to ask her to do anything he preferred, wanting her to be independent and make her own choices.

She thought again about simply leaving Starfleet -- it was the only way to resolve the conflict he was trying to endure. But he would know how she would feel about that. Impossible to pretend with one's bondmate.

"Time will help," she said.

"It isn't as though I have much choice, I suppose," he replied. "You look tired."

"Not a coincidence. If we're really having people over for dinner, I should sleep. Much as I hate that."

"Even if I tuck you in?"

Unfortunately, it was all he did. She fell asleep again while he was changing out of the uniform.


	26. Family is Who You Decided It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly what an adventure my life has been.
> 
> Hoping that the holidays will mean more time to write than I've had lately.
> 
> Of course there are more spoilers, this time to a story I haven't finished and haven't posted at all, one where they go to Betazed for their Big Fat Betazoid Wedding and Lwaxana manages to snag another husband and be a huge distraction.

It was Saturday, so when Jean-Luc opened his eyes early in the morning, he closed them again. It was still dark in the room anyway. He heard Deanna stir, moan a little, and mumble something indistinct as she often did before she woke up. He sent his hand questing beneath the covers and found her thigh. Bare, as she'd crawled into bed naked last night.

She rolled over, moving in her slumber to land closer to him, and he took advantage - sliding in so her arm landed on him, instead of randomly curling up again as she resettled. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, and then her lips.

Within moments she was awake -- she moved with more intention and her mind melded with his, as she straddled him and deepened the kiss.

Four days, and she was back to normal. Yesterday she hadn't had to take a nap, spent the day contacting crew and ignoring medical leave, and played games with the kids in the evening. He didn't doubt she would be cleared for duty on Monday. Her empathy had returned gradually, and telepathy wasn't far behind. He welcomed having her in his mind again.

So now while she kissed him and her hands wandered along his body, he appreciated her weight on him, reaching up to hold her as she leaned into his arms and wriggled to inch down over him. He laughed with her, running his fingers through her hair, and kissed her again.

"I've missed this," she murmured, sitting up. In the dark he saw little, but it didn't matter at all. He knew what she looked like. He knew how she felt -- he knew that she disliked recovering from severe injuries and how it could feel like forever, waiting to be well enough to return to her normal level of activity. It was a shared distaste.

"Yes," he said softly.

She paused, as the mood turned a little too quickly to the contemplative. He sighed and moved his hips slightly. She giggled and went back to happily working her hips.

For once, he didn't think about anything but what they were doing and there were no interruptions. She had very little difficulty making them both come, and it was not like her to be in such a hurry when they didn't have to be. He laughed, and caught her in his arms as she settled next to him again.

"We should do this more often," he mumbled. She picked up on his thoughts well enough for the context.

"Blocking out everything but each other is nice," she agreed, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.

He closed his eyes again and relaxed, as she fell asleep again for a while. The sun was coming up; light was filtering through the curtains at last. When he looked again he could see in the dim lighting of pre-dawn what a mess they had made of the bed, and her hair tumbling down her shoulder and his arm.

"Almost breakfast time," he commented. "Unless we let the kids answer the front door, and stay in bed while they entertain the guests."

She was thinking about something but not sharing it with him. It had the emotional undertones of the familiar recent moments when he could tell she wasn't happy.

"Or we could cancel the guests. Send them all elsewhere for the day."

She stirred, and as she sat up on the edge of the bed he saw that her hair was frizzy and turning into a curly mass around her head. He reached out to touch her back, ran fingertips from her side to her spine along her ribs. There wasn't a scar but when she'd been injured at Devaris it surely would have left one, had it not been for sickbay's technological miracle-making machines.

"Want coffee?" she asked, rising and heading for the bathroom.

"I set the timer." The coffee maker and dark roasted coffee beans had been a late housewarming gift from Kathryn.

By the time he took his turn in the shower and came out, she was sitting at the end of the bed wearing slacks and a blouse, and trying to brush her hair into submission. He sat with her, and she turned to let him work on taming her hair into a braid. He managed a passable herringbone and put a band on the end. Then they were sitting together on the end of the bed, neither one of them feeling very motivated to move. He leaned, and she turned to do the same, so they met lips to lips. One of many moments of synchrony.

She pulled away after a moment and stood, and he watched her get out a pair of pants for him. While he put them on, she found a navy blue shirt for him. When they emerged together from the bedroom, coming down the hall toward the kitchen, she caught his hand. Yves was getting himself a cup of coffee, standing at the counter in his pajamas and looking like he might still be half asleep.

Jean-Luc chuckled as he reached for two of the mugs arranged next to the coffee maker. "Comb your hair with a chair again?"

Yves laughed and ran his hand over his messy curly hair. "Yeah. The desk was broken."

Deanna giggled at the exchange and watched Jean-Luc pour her coffee. She accepted the mug and turned to add a little sweetener from the dish on the counter. "We're leaving in a bit -- are you wearing the pajamas to breakfast? We're supposed to meet Tom at the café in half an hour."

"Jean-Pierre is in the bathroom. I'm next." He took his coffee and headed out of the kitchen.

"I want to ask again, if you'd rather go back to bed," Jean-Luc said, picking the pot up and pouring himself some of the coffee.

"No. I'll be fine."

"I wonder at times if I made the right decision. I could have retired. I'm well domesticated now, I'd make a fine house husband."

Deanna laughed at him and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "You are not a house husband."

"That would be an evolution to make, true." And the current evolution had already proven to be difficult enough. He thought about reports following assignments he'd given to ship captains, and come to the conclusion that it was in fact just as bad being an admiral as he'd expected -- ship captains had hundreds of people to send out to die, but admirals sent thousands. The last skirmish with the Breen had destroyed a vessel and severely damaged several others. People were returning home to recuperate, some of them died, and there were orphans. He found himself most upset about that. He'd put the anger and frustration away, prior to coming home himself, and he was tired of having to do that.

Deanna sobered and studied him for a few seconds, responding to his mood. In the distance Cordelia's shouting alerted them to the oncoming interruption. She turned, raising her coffee to her lips, and watched the twins arriving. "Grandma is here," John-Pierre announced -- he was grinning, his version of glee and excitement. He wasn't as demonstrative as Cordelia. "She called while I was playing a game."

"She's at the spacedock," Deanna said, proving that she had recovered -- her functional range for telepathy wasn't as broad as her empathy, but it was impressive. "Just beamed down from the public terminal. She will be at the café. I'll be back in a minute and we'll go." She turned and went back in the kitchen.

"Papa, braid my hair! Please," Cordelia exclaimed, holding up a brush. Her long black hair was loose around her shoulders and some of it flying away.

They settled at the dining table and by the time Cordie's hair was done, Amy was there with her own brush, a small container of hair tamer, and frizzy auburn hair that defied her efforts daily. "I know how but you do it nicer," she said. "Please, Papa?"

Cordelia twisted in her chair and leaned, and he kissed her cheek and watched her skip away. "Come on, then, give me the brush," he said, and Amy took a seat where her sister had been, on a dining room chair turned sideways. The door chime resulted in an audible scuffle to answer the door, and as he brushed and braided, Yves and Pierre came in smiling, followed by Will and John Riker.

"Well, I didn't realize you were doing everyone's hair," Will said, grinning. He too had a nondescript pair of slacks and a long-sleeved teal blue shirt. They always abandoned the uniform on weekends now.

"It's an exclusive salon with a client base of three," Jean-Luc replied, working down to the end of Amy's shoulder-length hair and putting a clip on the end. "Off you go - I'm surprised you aren't wearing purple, your grandmother is meeting us at the café."

"Oh!" Amy raced out again. Clearly the gorgeous green dress she was wearing didn't meet her standards now that she knew Lwaxana would be there.

 "Hurry, we're leaving in a minute," Deanna called after her as she emerged from the kitchen. "Hello Will. Good morning, John."

"Morning Aunt Dee," John said. He looked back and forth between them, and Jean-Luc wondered -- the efforts to befriend Will's son had been going well enough. He'd even spent time with Yves and appeared to have some actual fun with them on his visits now. He seemed a bit anxious today, however.

"I've been talking to Henrí about the winery, by the way," Jean-Luc exclaimed, glancing at John and then at Yves. Talk of the long list of chores at the Picard family home in France had been part of their conversation often. "I'll have to decide what to do within the next few months. My manager is retiring."

"Hire another one?" Yves said. He turned as Jean-Luc started to walk, as did everyone else -- Fidele was dancing in the foyer excitedly, and the twins ran ahead, opening the front door. They met the L'norim on the lawn in front of the house, and everyone arranged themselves around him. Deanna walked behind him with the girls hanging on her arms, and Jean-Luc found himself walking with Will, John and Yves and Pierre sauntering together in front of them, and the three L'norim walking in formation surrounding the family like a security detail. Which they were -- deVin and deLio were even in uniform. zeRia was absent, likely staying home with their children. Fidele ran ahead down the walk like an excited dog, but scanning actively for weapons and unusual activity in the vicinity as he always did.

"It's difficult to find people with experience in wine making who aren't simply running their own winery," Jean-Luc said as they walked.

Yves glanced over his shoulder. "I can do it," he announced, grinning.

"Perhaps after you talk to Henrí yourself you will have an idea of what it would entail." It would, Jean-Luc knew, mean never going to the Academy or postponing college, and that was something of which he disapproved. Robert had never left the estate and only taken a few courses related to wine-making, and complained about that.

"Are you thinking of quitting Starfleet for good?" Will asked, as they strolled along.

Jean-Luc felt the sudden increase of tension from Deanna, and sighed quietly. "It wouldn't be the first time, and it won't be the last."

Cordelia danced up alongside and grabbed his left arm. "Papa, if you quit Starfleet are we moving to France?"

"We could have bigger rooms," Pierre exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder.

Jean-Luc paused on the corner and half-turned to look at Deanna and Amy. Consequently everyone around them stopped walking and watched him with anticipation. There were pros and cons to such a move, and the house being larger was only one of a number of positives. The appeal of raising the children at home in France, where he had been raised, had led him to consider it before they'd left the _Enterprise_ but ultimately neither of them had felt ready to leave Starfleet altogether.

Amy smiled, watching her mother, and Deanna tilted her head and considered him seriously. But she said nothing. Jean-Luc turned and started to walk again.

They reached the café to find that most of the tables on the patio had been rearranged for them, and Tom was helping Annika place chairs around the four squares shoved together to make a long single table. "Hey, there we are," he exclaimed, holding his arms out wide. He wasn't in uniform, but Jean-Luc knew he would be the following day, when he reported for duty and took command of the _Osiris_. Another Expediter class vessel, to step in where needed, and there would be at least a dozen more to come.

The kids greeted him, but even Cordelia hung back. There had been a shift in their attitude toward Tom -- Deanna had informed him that switching on the implant had resulted in a radical change in what the kids sensed from him, and they were still working out what to think of it. Will gave an affable nod, and Deanna went forward to give Tom a brief hug.

Annika came to Jean-Luc, smiling, and when she didn't close the distance between them he took the last few steps and gave her a one-armed hug, and moved to take a seat in the chair at the head of the table. The three L'norim spread out around the edges of the patio, keeping watch. Everyone chose seats, scattering around the long table and it was encouraging that Yves and John sat with Pierre and started a conversation about school sports.

"Are we getting a round of the usual?" Will asked no one in particular. Since Annika had started to work at the café Deanna had spread the word and most of them had become regulars there, sometimes meeting by accident some mornings and having breakfast together. Tom often came to have lunch with Beverly and lingered when she returned to Starfleet Medical. The café staff knew their preferences by now.

"Yes, I already told them you were all coming." Annika's cheeks were a little pink with excitement. "Is Bell coming?"

"No, she took Marcus to see Grandma," Will said. "We're going later today."

"Beverly had to work this morning," Tom put in.

Deanna came to sit at Jean-Luc's right, as Will and Tom chatted with Annika. She gazed at him across the corner of the table, and he could almost hear her thinking, but when she wasn't making a point to share it and he wasn't exerting himself it wasn't clear to him. He thought he could guess from her mood that she, like him, continued to feel unsettled.

"Papa," Cordelia sang out, coming between them to lean on his arm. "Papa can we have another baby?"

This was the latest of a long, long string of requests from her for anything she had a whim to want, and he glanced around -- sure enough, there was a woman with a baby sitting at a table on the other side of the patio, leaning down to smile at the baby in its carrier. Jean-Luc sighed. "I think not, _minou_. There will be no babies for us. At least until one of you starts having our grandchildren."

Cordelia turned to Amy, who had taken a seat next to Deanna, and giggled as her sister shook her head and frowned. Deanna smiled sadly and caressed the back of Cordelia's head. "Go sit down, your grandmother will be here shortly."

They were all seated and Annika gone to fetch drinks when a couple of young men in uniform arrived and took a table in the far right corner, away from the L'norim standing at attention. When Annika came out with a tray of drinks, her pace slowed noticeably, and Jean-Luc noticed it took her a few seconds to stop staring and finish the delivery of coffee and other beverages to her customers. Her smile for each of them was tight and brief, forced, as she placed cups in front of each person around the table. When she reached Jean-Luc he caught her gaze and held it for a moment, waiting. Her blue eyes flicked toward the two men and back, and then she looked down for a moment, then walked around his chair to give Deanna her mug, place cups of tea in front of Amy and Cordelia, and turn to head back inside the café.

So they had finally happened to be present when the ex had shown up. There was an agreement that they were all looking out for him. He had managed to show up more days than not since arriving on Earth, and Annika had told them she thought he was doing it out of malice, passively harassing her.  Jean-Luc nodded to Deanna and pointed with his chin, and she nodded in return, anger in her dark eyes. Will put his coffee back down and leaned forward; Tom froze, his mug held in the air just millimeters from his lips as he watched this silent exchange.

Annika returned a moment later with three more drinks for the boys, placed them carefully in front of them, and started to head inside again.

"Annika."

At his quiet summons, she turned and came back to stand at his side, glance at Deanna, then turn to attend to what he had to say.

"Ask us to help and we will," Jean-Luc told her quietly. "I'll talk to him."

Annika blinked. "I can't," she said softly.

"Do you want him to stop coming to this café?" She'd already said as much, but had asked her employer once and hesitated to ask again based on the ambivalent response she'd gotten from him.

Tom put down the mug. His face went blank, emotionless, the way it always did before he made someone regret being born. "Tom," Deanna said with the mild tone of scolding that usually told the kids to stop whatever it was _right now_. Yves and Pierre actually flinched and kept watching -- both of them were at the far end of the table, on Tom's left. Wide-eyed and looking back and forth, waiting for fur to fly and names to be taken. John was reacting as well but in confusion.

"I would like him to leave me alone," Annika said, almost wincing, then turned and hurried for the door, to go inside -- embarrassed.

"I'll -- "

Jean-Luc held out a hand and Tom went silent, settling back in the chair again. Crossing his arms, Jean-Luc turned and stared at the two ensigns. Tom caught on and did the same, and Yves turned to stare as well, arm on the back of his chair. Deanna sighed and commented on Amy's last progress report. They talked a little about assignments and projects, but Amy kept glancing at her father, and once over her shoulder then across the table at Yves, who continued to stare.

Aaron, the ex who would not take a hint, got up and wandered over. "Is there a problem?" he asked, with an irate tone and stiff posture.

All the conversation at the table stopped. Jean-Luc stood up slowly, and out of the corner of his eye saw that Will and Tom had done the same. "I believe so."

The ensign crossed his arms. "Look, I don't know who you think you -- "

"There is a café two blocks down to the west," Jean-Luc put in smoothly, not letting him continue. "I recommend that you take your business there for the foreseeable future."

The ensign gaped. "What?"

"You should learn to leave people alone, if you do not want people to have to ask you to do it," Deanna said. "Annika has asked you to stop coming here. You should have listened."

From under the table where Fidele had hidden himself came a growl. Aaron backed a step but halted and steadied himself, standing his ground.

"This is your opportunity to leave and respect her privacy by your choice," Jean-Luc said. "You've had enough chances to make that choice without intervention."

Ensign Carrillo was angry, but said nothing -- glared at them, and was about to speak. But Jean-Luc uncrossed his arms and took a step toward him, and stood again waiting for a response. Tom sidled out from between his chair and the table and stood with his hands hanging at his sides, staring with narrowed eyes as if sizing up the job at hand.

The L'norim, all three of them, were slowly coming closer, surrounding the table. deLio stepped up beside the ensign. The movement startled the ensign. deLio came to attention. "Admiral? Captain?"

"The ensign would like an escort to the café down the street," Deanna said casually. She was staring at Tom, not the ensign.

deLio nodded once. "Yes, sir." He stepped around behind Jean-Luc's chair and stood close to the ensign. "You will come with me, Ensign."

The ensign gaped, but Fidele came out at last and stood with ears laid back staring at him, and finally he let himself be herded away from the table. Fidele and deVin followed him. seKahl took up a position near the end of the table and stayed at attention. The other ensign left his table and scurried along after his friend. Jean-Luc sat down again, as did Will and Tom. He met Yves' eyes and watched his son pick up the cup of coffee in front of him.

"What was that about?" Cordelia asked softly, swinging her feet and looking down the table at Deanna.

"Nothing, _minou_ ," Jean-Luc said. "Nothing at all. Drink your tea."

Cordie picked up her cup, but put it back down and jumped up from her chair. Her braid came loose as she raced around the table. "Grandma!"

Pierre was out of his chair too, and running -- Lwaxana Troi and her entourage of two were coming down the sidewalk. The latest assistant, a tall pale man with an angular head who resembled Homn, had a large bag in his arms. The gray-haired fellow who had become Mr. Delgado Troi ambled along behind his wife with a serene smile, quite content to be along for the ride.

"Hel-lo, my dears," Lwaxana sang out as she embraced Cordelia and turned to do the same to Jean-Pierre. "I have presents for everyone. Deanna, how are you, my lovely?"

Amy followed her mother around to hug her, Yves joined them, and John waited with a dubious expression. Will was trying not to laugh. Tom kicked back and sipped coffee, waiting for the displays of affection to conclude.

Jean-Luc got up to greet his mother-in-law only after Deanna and the kids had done so, smiling at John's wide-eyed look. "You haven't met Deanna's mother, but I'm sure you will like her," he said.

"You think?" Will said with a laugh. He stood up as well, to greet the newcomers, now that the kids were hugged and gifted. John followed his father's example though he actually rolled his eyes as Lwaxana complimented the tall pointed purple hat she'd set on Pierre's head.

"It's been a while, Will. I don't believe you've met Del, her husband?"

Delgado shook hands with Jean-Luc and greeted him amiably, turned to Will to do the same -- he loved meeting new people and started asking questions. 

Jean-Luc watched Christmas come early, with a smile. Each child had been given the usual gifts, either extravagant or tastelessly gaudy or both, and Yves put on the crazy sparkling purple hat that looked eerily like something Guinan used to wear without a word of complaint. Pierre took his off and just held it, and Cordelia put on the cape and the matching purple beret she'd been given. There were more gifts in the bag than grandchildren so John was easy to include.

"Thanks," John said, holding the multicolored hat she'd bestowed upon him as if it were some great gift. He looked to his father with wide eyes, trying to get a clue of what to do with it.

"Such a handsome young man, William," Lwaxana cooed in Will's direction while patting John's shoulder. She'd put her hair up and decorated it with some sort of tinsel. The green dress she wore had a more subtle sparkle to it.

"Thank you, Mrs. Troi. It's been too long." Will smiled, only letting it turn into a grin as she turned away to swoop toward Jean-Luc, looking like an enormous bird in the long gown with draped sleeves.

But they had made their truce long ago, and she gave him the briefest of embraces, kissing him on the cheek and sweeping onward. She let Cordelia lead her around the table and seat her in the middle. Amy joined them and Deanna returned to her own seat to continue drinking coffee. The manservant dropped the nearly-empty bag on a nearby table and seated himself.

Annika returned while Lwaxana was holding court, and waited to see if the newcomers needed anything -- when Jean-Luc caught her eye he smiled, gestured to Delgado who was standing and chatting with Tom and Will, and when he came over, introduced him to her. Del was not tall, but broad-shouldered and stocky -- he was as good-natured as he would have to be, to spend his days with Deanna's mother. He grinned at Annika and held out his arms, but dropped them again at a quick shake of Jean-Luc's head. Annika did not tolerate hugs from strangers.

"Annika is family," Jean-Luc said, as Del shook hands with her. "We've more or less adopted her."

"I'm pleased to meet you," she said, blushing a little. She couldn't quite look him in the eye. Large, exuberant people tended to cause her anxiety, which had become obvious once she'd shed the defensive Borg aggressive posturing. 

"Del is Deanna's stepfather," Jean-Luc continued.

Annika blinked. Her eyes wandered to Lwaxana, who was telling Amy about something one of Amy's friends on Betazed had done, to Deanna, and back to Del, who was perhaps four years older than the "stepdaughter" he now had.

"Age is irrelevant," Jean-Luc murmured, patting Annika on the shoulder.

She smiled -- one of her genuine amused smiles, rather than the polite one she often put on -- and Del laughed. "It often is," he said. "You're a lovely one, but very anxious. Relax, honey."

"Del," Deanna warned. He shared her mother's penchant for intrusive advice-giving and Annika did not respond well to it. There was a reason they had never taken her to Betazed or exposed her to Lwaxana during her brief visits to the ship to see the children. "Annika, my mother would like a Tarkalian tea."

"I'll get it. Would you care for anything, Mr. Troi?" Annika asked, putting on the professional waitress demeanor she'd practiced.

"I would like a cup of Vulcan tea," Del said, grinning broadly. "Hold the Vulcan."

Deanna snorted. "Get him a cup of chamomile, if you would. Lightly sweetened. He'll never give you a straight answer."

Annika went off to get cups of tea without a backward glance. Her stiff posture said it was a good thing she had an "out."

Del smirked at Jean-Luc. "You have a way about you, old man."

Jean-Luc suppressed the annoyance at that innuendo, though he was sure it showed in his face, and turned to Deanna. She had sidled up to him and leaned, sliding her arm around him, and then he realized she had mostly blocked him out when her mother arrived. She re-established full contact and informed him that her mother was tired, wanted to take the kids shopping and out to lunch, and have them join her for dinner at her hotel. He agreed to that without reservation.

"He is a good foster father," Deanna said aloud as she continued the conversation with Del, her eyes glowing warmly. "Annika has had a very difficult time learning to be human."

Del's thick black eyebrows drew together in confusion. "She wasn't human?"

"She was raised in an alien culture," Jean-Luc said, using the vague truth he and Annika had agreed upon for such occasions. "So she has difficulty in social situations."

"She's really nice," Cordelia put in, dancing over to them and leaning on her mother. "Papa, can I go help Annika?"

"If you want to, just be careful." He watched her skip away, and to his surprise Yves and John followed. Pierre watched them go and sipped his hot chocolate. Amy moved away from the table and started to dance -- Lwaxana clapped and laughed and encouraged her.

"Amy wants to go to Betazed for the Moon Festival," Deanna said. 

"If it doesn't interfere with school. Are you going as well?"

Del chortled, putting his hands on his hips. He glanced sidelong at Will, who was standing there with them. "Ever been to the Moon Festival?"

"No, but only because I've heard about it," Will said. He looked over at the café as the door opened and smiled. "I don't know what you guys have been doing with John because he doesn't really talk much about his visits, but I think it's made a big difference."

Jean-Luc glanced over his shoulder. John was carrying a tray of food, bringing it along behind Annika with another tray, and the other kids were following him. "He's been helping me with a few projects around the house and I taught him to play chess."

"I think there must be something else to it, though. He talks to us. He doesn't scowl as much. He started helping around the house once in a while."

Del's bushy black brows drew together. "Sounds like a handful of a kid."

"He was. Dee's right, you're a good foster father," Will said, smiling at Jean-Luc.

"Let's sit down and eat," Deanna put in, circumventing a scowl and a bluster. Jean-Luc let himself be diverted, and everyone followed his lead, rearranging to let Lwaxana sit with Deanna and Delgado went around the table to be next to his wife.

It was a chatty group for breakfast. deLio and deVin returned to stand guard again. Fidele flopped down on the pavement at the end of the table and waited quietly. Amy and Cordelia asked question after question, and Jean-Luc ate while enjoying the sounds of his happy children. Deanna was thinking with him again -- liking that he was feeling better. Annika kept their cups full and started taking away empty plates as people finished eating. Yves and John were talking as if they had been friends all along, and Jean-Luc silently approved and hoped that would continue.

"Well, John and I should be going," Will announced regretfully. "We're supposed to be there in a few minutes." It led to the first of the sequential farewells, as everyone took turns saying good-bye -- Cordelia even ran around to hug Will, then back to the other side of the table to hug John before he could walk around to join his father. John said a sincere farewell to Yves, Amy and the twins, and then to Deanna. When he turned to Jean-Luc, he hesitated, his smile wavering. 

"You'll let me know if you need any help," he half-asked. 

"Or you could come over and spend time with us without the obligation," Jean-Luc returned easily. "Surely you could see we have plenty of hands to do the work. But you're always welcome, John."

Unexpectedly the boy was shocked, then rushed in for a hug -- rather than show the surprise at the unusual gesture, Jean-Luc threw an arm around John's shoulders and let him pull away first, which he did after a moment. He took a few steps uncertainly, closing the distance between him and his father, and hugged him as well. Will patted his son's shoulder and turned to go, clearly surprised by this from the sullen teen he'd been so frustrated with for so long.

As they walked away Tom got up from his chair as well. "I have to go pick up Beverly, her shift is nearly done. Taking her to lunch at the pier. I can be by the house later, if it's not an imposition?"

"I think you should spend the time with Beverly instead," Deanna said, smiling as she thought about having the kids and everyone else out of the way for a while. "Before you have to both spend too much time on duty. See you at the briefing tomorrow morning, early."

"Yes, sir," Tom exclaimed with a grin and a salute. He turned and strode off down the street, whistling to himself. 

"We should take Grandma to France," Pierre exclaimed. "She's never been there." He put the hat on again, and predictably it fell right off in his hands. Cordelia giggled at her brother.

"We should think about doing that later," Deanna put in. "She already has to deal with the time difference between her home on Betazed and here."

"Do we have to go to school? Grandma will only be here for a couple of weeks," Cordelia asked, dashing around to lean on Jean-Luc's arm. She often had difficulty sitting still when she was really excited.

"I think your grandmother will expect you to go," he said, putting an arm around her. "She always asks about your grades. You wouldn't want to neglect your work."

"I guess." Cordelia pressed her cheek to his shoulder, and for a moment he had her relaxed with him, leaning against his chest within the circle of his arm. She was moving away a few heartbeats later, and he watched her go with a moment of melancholy -- for years, they had vacillated between moments of happiness and hours of stress, always their lives revolving around the bridge and what was going on outside the main viewscreen ahead of them. A moment at home to hear a child's first words, and then hours or days of tension as they led the crew in dissecting a critical situation.

He hadn't given any time to thoughts of how it had been, after Will and Beverly had left the _Enterprise_ or about the more recent transition, leaving four pips behind forever, since he'd beamed off the ship and moved into his new life on Earth without further debate. All he had done was to think about the future, and not wanting to look back. They had at times through the years actually wished they could simply quit Starfleet; the incredible stress and the recovery from injuries had led him to consider it seriously more than once. Deanna had done the same. And now, somehow a moment with Cordelia took him back in time, reminding him of other work that needed to be done. The kind of work he had resisted doing when he was younger, and found himself doing over and over now that he was a parent -- emotional work. Being in the here and now for his children would obviously require him to once again revisit and work through his own feelings about himself and what he was doing. 

"Jean-Luc?" Deanna murmured. The girls were chatting with their grandmother animatedly, and Pierre had swapped hats with his brother. Which was worse -- instead of falling off, the broad, flat hat sank down over his eyes and nose, and he bobbled his head to make his sisters laugh.

"We need to talk," he said with a sigh. 

The knowing look she gave him reminded him of Counselor Troi, her long-abandoned alter ego, and made him smile. Immediately she smiled with him, catching the thought and as amused as he was. "I hope that isn't all we do."

"I want to talk about other things to do. I want to feel as though I am having an impact on the future of the Federation, without feeling as though I have to ask people to die to do it."

Deanna's amusement fled, and tears pooled in her eyes, but were quickly set aside -- the children didn't even have an opportunity to react, though he noticed Yves was watching them with concern. Lwaxana demanded his attention by asking him about his girlfriend. It was a distracting question, but Yves' response that he didn't have one reassured.

"You're back around to quitting Starfleet, aren't you?" she murmured, leaning closer.

Because there wasn't any other way around it -- the Breen were pressing onward toward all-out war, and the continued unrest in the Beta Quadrant might yet become one as well. Both of them were now privy to information that left no doubt. Recovery from the Dominion War had barely made any headway at all before they had been pulled into the thick of dealing with the Randra Alliance. Now the fallout from the Dominion War was making another try -- the Breen were taking advantage of Starfleet's difficulties with the Sisnok, the Asili and other Beta Quadrant species.

"It isn't really about Starfleet any more," he replied. 

"Ah," Deanna said, leaning forward slightly to put down her cup on the table. 

He frowned at her. Before he could respond to the nonverbal 'I told you so' they were distracted by a wail from the baby being held by the woman seated several tables away. When he glanced over he saw that she was trying to comfort the child, then trying to feed it. Neither tactic worked. Within minutes, Lwaxana was on her feet. "My dear, you seem so distressed. Do you need help?"

" _Merde_ ," Jean-Luc muttered under his breath. Deanna almost laughed. 

Cordelia went after her grandmother, also expressing concern. "Can't take them anywhere," Yves commented. 

"Your grandmother is a helper," Delgado said, unnecessarily. 

"Yeah," Pierre said, putting Amy's hat on. At least it neither fell off nor fell down. The cap was designed to be pinned in place, however, and sat askew on his short curly hair. 

"Oh, look at you," Lwaxana exclaimed, returning to the table holding the baby bundled up in a blue blanket. Cordelia was at her elbow peering at the baby, grinning. 

Jean-Luc stared in disbelief -- had she abducted the child? But the woman was heading into the cafe for some reason, not chasing her. "Dee," he said, trying not to sound alarmed.

"Mother, do you know her?" Deanna asked placidly. He had always admired her ability to remain calm in the face of her mother's absurdities. At least until her anxiety level peaked, at which point she would be tearing her hair out, but she was improving over the years.

"The poor woman is caring for this child all alone," Lwaxana exclaimed, bouncing the crying baby and making a pouty face at it. "Her sister died in some battle recently. She's trying, the poor thing, but she never expected to have to take care of a child."

"But -- "

"Mother," Deanna said over the baby's crying, as if there was absolutely nothing at all the matter with intruding on other people's lives. "I'm sure she will be fine. Starfleet provides assistance to foster and adoptive parents of children whose parents die in service."

"Oh, I'm certain they provide something and call it assistance, but why is she exhausted and never getting any sleep and trying to help this poor distressed little girl all by herself then?"

"Mother -- "

"Maman, can we help?" Cordelia said, excited as ever about the prospect of having something to take care of, despite having been told so many times it wouldn't happen. "She lives in our neighborhood!"

"I'm sure the woman can take care of her child without our help," Jean-Luc said patiently. 

Cordelia rushed him and grabbed his arm. "Papa, she feels so awful," she whispered, tears in her eyes. 

"Cordie, we can't rescue everyone who is having difficulties with something," Deanna said patiently. "She is having a difficult time, but we all have difficulties sometimes. It doesn't mean we get people we have never met before to help us."

"But we aren't rescuing everybody, just her," Cordelia cried. 

"Cordelia, we are not rescuing anyone from their own child," Jean-Luc replied. "Your grandmother will give the baby back to her when she returns and then you will go shopping with your grandparents."

The woeful look on Cordelia's face was difficult to bear. She spun and took off, and was inside the cafe before he could respond. 

He turned and had to face everyone else; no one liked to upset Cordelia, and she was really worked up about the situation. Pierre made a popping noise with his lips and started to twirl Amy's purple cap on his finger. Yves was watching his grandmother bouncing the crying baby. "Oh, you poor little thing," she cooed. "It's all right."

Deanna was watching him with sad eyes. When he returned the look, she glanced after Cordelia. "She's talking to the woman."

"This isn't -- how are we in the middle of this?"

Lwaxana's dark eyes fell on him and for the first time in a long time, she glared. "Jean-Luc. How can you be so callous?"

"I'm not being -- " It wasn't worth the fight, he told himself, sitting back in the chair. "Did she ask for your help?" If she wanted to help, and the woman wanted her help, it was between them after all. 

"I'm sorry," came an unfamiliar voice, and he turned to look up at the woman -- young, long blond curls, probably not much older than Yves now that he had a close look at her. Cordelia was with her, following close behind, looking at him with a very serious expression that he rarely saw on her. "I didn't mean to cause a problem. Kellie has been crying for the past five days since I picked her up. Sometimes I think it's because she misses her mom, other times I think she's picking up how much I miss my sister." Her bright brown eyes were brighter, and her face contorted with the effort not to cry. "I'm Cadet Sandra Mills, though likely not a cadet for very much longer."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Deanna said, rising to face the woman. It drew the woman's attention to her. "My mother said your sister died in a battle?"

The cadet nodded, unable to speak for a moment. "I'll take her, Mrs. Troi," she managed after a moment, moving around to take the baby from Lwaxana.

"You only need to ask, my dear," Lwaxana said. "If I can help."

"Thank you," the girl replied -- it was hard to see her any other way. Jean-Luc could see the stress in her face. She was very young indeed. She turned back to look at him as she swayed and tried to comfort the still-crying baby. "I don't want to disrupt -- you have a beautiful family, Admiral. I'm sorry that we interrupted."

He was on his feet before he thought about it. "Are you getting any help from Family Services?"

Again, her face had a pinched look. "Yes. But they say she and I will adjust. And the support group is once a week, so is the counselor. I'm still reeling from finding out -- it's only been a week since Kellie was handed over to me. A week and a half since they told me my sister died."

"Papa," Cordelia whined softly, tugging on his sleeve. 

"Do you have any other family?" he asked, knowing full well that he was being pulled into this by the empaths, and becoming less irritated by that the more this girl talked to him. 

She looked down at the baby, which was starting to howl again, and tried not to cry. Yves was staring at him now with an expression that clearly suggested he might as well give in. 

Jean-Luc ran a hand over his head, and Deanna moved out of his way as his foot went forward. Cordelia went with him, holding onto his hand, and leaned on him as he looked down at the red-faced baby -- the child couldn't be more than a few months old. When his arms came up the cadet passed her to him without hesitation. It took a few moments for the child to cry, whimper and then quiet in his arms. 

Cordelia smiled up at him, leaning against him, looking up at his face. "Papa, I knew you could help."

"I don't think that was ever in question," Deanna said. She came to them, but put a hand on the cadet's arm. "What do you need that you aren't getting from Family Services?"

Mills frowned and kept trying not to cry. "I had to move into regular Starfleet housing. I was in the dorm -- it's a huge change for me, I feel completely isolated and none of my friends have time for me now that I'm not in classes. My parents are both dead. My sister finished raising me -- I lived on a starship with her until I passed the test and got into the Academy early."

He stared at Deanna and they thought about that for a moment. Over her shoulder, Lwaxana gave him a knowing look that had a little too much satisfaction and amusement for his liking. 

"Have a seat, Ms. Mills. Let's talk about this a little more."


	27. End and Begin Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a fun ride with this one. I hope it was as much fun for you. Off to other plot bunnies.

Will watched his wife go out the door with the boys and smiled when John looked back -- and then John smiled back, gave him a thumbs-up, and followed his mother out. It made Will happy -- more of the good attitude he liked to see from his older son. They had stopped taking him to therapy and at his request moved him to a different school. He seemed to be happy again. 

The house was too quiet. He went out the back door into the yard. John, since he had been helping the Picard family at their home and then spending part of his weekends helping at their home in France, had taken an interest in gardening and the yard was looking less like a patch of grass. Marcus and Will had been helping him, but he'd made the choices, and so there were a few flower beds and a vegetable bed now. Will strolled over sipping his coffee and looked down at the two rows of chard and two rows of carrots. Interesting ideas John had, perhaps not ideal for the climate, but the seedlings were still alive for now.

It was a cloudy morning, but didn't feel like rain. He glanced up and watched a squirrel run the length of the back fence, then leap off into a tree in the neighbor's yard. He started to turn back to the house and froze in his tracks.

A man in black was standing in his family's backyard, next to the sunflowers his son had planted to the left of the back steps.

After a moment a cold wave of recognition swept through Will.

"Dad?"

Kyle Riker smiled. "Hello, son," he said. Quiet, wistful -- not at all what Will would have expected. His short-cropped gray hair had gone white, and his face had more lines in it. He looked tired and old. A lot of time had passed since the wedding.

Will came closer, slow and wary. "I was guessing you were dead."

His father stopped smiling, and stood there unmoving for a bit. "I know."

"What brought you out of hiding?" Remembering what Deanna and Tom had said, he kept his distance.

Kyle stared at him. Will wondered what to make of it -- why he would have bothered to show up here, now. He was glad the kids and Bell had been gone when he'd shown up.

"I just came to tell you that I love you, Will." Kyle smiled again, this time sad and perhaps regretful. He sighed, his shoulders sinking a little. "You can tell your friends that I'm gone for good, that there's nothing I want from them. Nothing I have left to do. Section 31 is gone."

Will raised his head in alarm. "What are you talking about?"

Kyle shook his head sadly, started to turn as if going in the door, and a transporter beam took him away before Will could react.

Will Riker stood there in the yard until a few sprinkles of rain fell on him, wondering what the hell had really just happened.

As the light showers became rain, he went inside, recycled his mug, and left for Starfleet Command wearing a coat and carrying an umbrella. He arrived in Tactical Operations on autopilot, his mind still taking apart the few minutes with his father. He turned off the sonic umbrella in the foyer and nodded to security as he approached the turbolifts, to head up to his floor. In the corridor near her office, he met Admiral Bettencourt. She was as impassive as always.

"Admiral Riker," she said evenly. "You are late."

"I am," he replied. "And a little shaken up. I had an unexpected visitor this morning."

One slender eyebrow twitched upward. "Come to my office."

He sat across her desk from her, in the chair he'd been in often. Bettencourt had taken Jean-Luc's recommendation seriously, and so the Vulcan had requested his transfer from Operations after Admiral Picard left the building, and Starfleet. It felt strange to once more step into Picard's shoes, but Will agreed after a few weeks of doing the job that Tactical Ops was a better fit for him.

"My father," he said simply. The admiral had full awareness of who his father was and the history with the Picards.

Bettencourt nodded once, taking that in. "You had believed he might be dead. Glendenning believed otherwise."

"Yes. And I didn't want to think he was Section, but I think it must be true."

Soriah Bettencourt regarded him calmly, waiting, but when he said nothing more, she nodded. "Do you believe he will be a problem?"

"I do not." Will fervently hoped not. He sighed heavily, took another deep breath, and started to move from being in shock to feeling sad. "I'm sorry I missed the staff meeting. I stood in the backyard for too long, in shock. I don't even know how long. The rain shook me out of it. I hadn't seen my father in years, he looks... older."

"I would like you to update me on the status of the Expediter series," Bettencourt said crisply, clearly intending to have a meeting with him right then to make up for the one he'd missed.

Will sat up straighter and told her -- about the  _Osiris_ and the  _Hermes_ being deployed yesterday, and the  _Odin_ would be launched in two days. The task of administrating each launch and assigning the vessels to missions had been handed over to him, now that the Expediter project had been implemented, and Admiral Bettencourt continued to run the department and on the next transwarp model, tentatively a battleship design. Tom Glendenning had been sent out with medical staff and supplies to a colony attacked by the Breen, and Deanna had made a run to provide backup for a scout vessel. She had concluded the mission that morning early, the _Hermes_ was on its way home, and the  _Osiris_ was not due back until tomorrow. The _Odin_ had been given to Captain Janeway since it meant she would be able to leave her children at home with her husband,her mother or her sister, while she was deployed. Chakotay was undecided as yet, but might have been talked into his own vessel if he were also able to be home every few days.

He finished his report feeling as though he had mostly settled after the incident at home. Then Bettencourt eyed him for a few seconds, and said, "Thank you for the update. If you feel you require time to recover from your experience and have no pressing matters here, do feel free to take the rest of the day off. I will be departing from the office shortly myself."

"Thank you, Admiral." Will tried not to sound too surprised. It reminded him of when Jean-Luc had taken so much time off to be with Deanna, when she'd been injured -- somehow Will had imagined that it would be unacceptable, that Jean-Luc had fought for the time, but it seemed Bettencourt was fairly relaxed about it. Jean-Luc had said that Bettencourt was more focused on getting work done than on keeping regular hours. So far it seemed to be true.

He went to his office and checked in with his messages, and there were a few things afoot but it took little time to respond to those messages. He contacted the _Hermes_ and within minutes had Deanna on the viewscreen on his desk.

"Hello, Admiral," she said, smiling across the light years. "We are en route to Earth. Is something else afoot?"

"Nothing your vessel can address. I had a visit from my father this morning."

Her jaw dropped briefly. "Really?"

"He said we have nothing to worry about any more, because they are all gone." It still felt wrong to invoke Section 31 over an open channel. But she seemed to understand just fine without naming names; she nodded slowly, thinking it over.

"We've said this before and been wrong, though. So I think you should take precautions."

 "Bell and the kids went ahead of me already to France. I was supposed to go along in the morning, but Bettencourt is being lenient and I may go today."

"Then perhaps I will see you soon," Deanna said with a smile. She straightened visibly and tempered the smile. "Is there anything else, Admiral?"

"I could have waited to discuss the matter, but I thought given the nature of the agency, it might be best to notify immediately than to wait. I'll see you shortly, Captain."

He terminated the channel and glanced around his office -- he had done very little to it other than adding a picture of his family to the desk. Rising, he went to the outer office and spoke briefly to Simms, instructing him to call if there were any developments or incoming transmissions. Then he left the office entirely.

The transporter put him in front of the house, where he tarried long enough to pack a bag. The rain had stopped and the clouds were breaking up, so he didn't bother with the umbrella on the walk to the nearest public transporter station. The next transporter hop put him in the lane down the hill from the Picard estate. It was late afternoon, heading into evening, nine hours ahead of where he'd been minutes before. He walked up the dirt lane and found Jean-Pierre standing in the front yard, contemplating rows of flowers and rose bushes in the planters along the front of the house. Pierre looked up and smiled.

"What's going on?" Will asked. There generally always was something going on. 

"So Maman told me to put some vases of flowers on the dining room table. I'm trying to decide between roses and lilies. Or going to the village to get bouquets."

Will chuckled as he glanced around the yard. Nothing amiss here, and he knew if anyone unfamiliar showed up, Fidele was always on watch. "I'll walk with you if you want to go into town. Is anyone else home?"

Pierre gestured vaguely toward the outbuildings on the east end of the house. "Papa and Henri are talking about the grapes and counting casks. I think Yves is doing some history project with Rebecca. She has a stupid teacher who I guess doesn't think she can write papers."

"Rebecca? Wasn't she in San Francisco?"

Pierre wrinkled his nose. "She came to visit for a few days. She's sleeping in Cordie's room." The girls had returned to Betazed with Lwaxana, which probably accounted for how quiet it was.

"I see. Well -- are we picking the roses, or walking to town?"

Pierre studied the row of red and white blooming rose bushes. "Let's go to town. Fidele!"

The dog took but a moment to come racing around the house from the direction of the winery. The tall red hound wagged his tail as he stopped in front of Pierre. "Are we going to play?"

"Maybe later. Go tell Papa I'm going to the florist with Uncle Will and then you come catch up to us. We're walking over to get some flowers for the table."

The dog spun in place and ran off, disappearing into the bushes. Pierre marched off down the lane. Will went along, adjusting his longer strides to match his pace. He hadn't spent a lot of time with Jean-Luc's younger son, so this was an interesting opportunity.

Jean-Pierre was taller than Marcus, his head almost even with Will's shoulder. A growth spurt, Will thought. "Are you liking the move to France?"

"Yeah," Jean-Pierre said, smiling happily. Which was new for the surly youngest Picard who usually spent his time quietly hanging out on the periphery of whatever the rest of the family was doing. He snatched up a stick from the side of the road and swung it around as they walked. "I like my new school, too. Papa asked if we wanted to learn more about wine making. We have time to do that now." The Picards had opted for a home schooling program, rather than the village school. So far it was going well, from what Jean-Luc said.

"So this might be a ridiculous question," Will began, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of hurried footfalls. Fidele was running at his amazing full speed down the lane and slowed to a trot alongside Pierre. The boy's hand went out to the dog's head. "Have you seen my family?"

"They're here. John wanted to go see the treehouse so Yves told them where it is, and they went out in the woods down the hill," he explained gesturing vaguely behind them. 

"Okay. Guess I'll look for them when we get back."

Pierre swung his stick and tossed it ahead of them, and Fidele ran to bring it back. He repeated the process as they strolled down the road toward the village in the distance. It was a beautiful countryside, and Will found it easy to not think about Starfleet. Being here was better than the holodeck. He had to come more often -- the kids had been asking more and more to visit and he understood why. The first visit, helping the Picards move, had opened his eyes. 

The village was about a twenty minute walk and the florist greeted Jean-Pierre by name, smiling, asking after his parents. He introduced Will to the middle-aged woman and Fiona greeted him warmly. He asked about a few flowers he didn't recognize as a way of making small talk and Pierre picked flowers for the bouquets with the casual air of someone who had been given the task before. They walked away with four bouquets filled with pink and red flowers and copious amounts of fern. Pierre carried two of them together in a bundle in front of him as if he were a bridesmaid; Will carried the other two in one hand.

"Maman will like them," Pierre announced.

"I thought she liked lilies," Will said.

Pierre smirked, looking more like his father than usual. "She likes anything we get for her if we surprise her. All she wanted was some roses from the yard, this will be a surprise."

"She should be home any time now."

But the person who materialized in the lane as they approached the turnoff to the Picard estate was not Deanna. Fidele barked and ran forward, and Pierre cried out, "Natalia!"

The officer who turned to grin at him was not the skinny girl who'd started on the _Enterprise_ as a cadet by far. Natalia wore the latest iteration of the uniform, of course, black with red piping, but there were four pips instead of three on the collar.

"Congratulations," Will said, taking a second to appreciate the mature, curvaceous woman the ensign he used to tease had become. "Which vessel?"

"Captain Shelby recommended me to the Expediter project," Natalia said. "The _Isis_ is supposed to launch in a couple of months. I took some leave, and then I'll be putting together a crew."

"So home you come," Will exclaimed, waving a hand up the lane.

"Those aren't for me?" she asked, dropping an arm across Pierre's shoulders. "You're getting tall, little man."

"Or you're getting short."

"So how did you all decide to move to France, after moving to San Francisco?" she asked as they walked up the hill. Fidele raced ahead barking, and vanished in the direction of the winery.

"Papa retired from Starfleet to learn to make wine, and so we could finish growing up here, where he did. And Maman wants to get a horse." Not exactly the way it all went down, but a functional summary.

"I was here a long time ago, when I was a cadet," she said as they reached the house. "Before any of you were born."

"We know. Papa said you were the first one."

She glanced back at Will; he shrugged, as clueless as she. "First what?"

"The first one they adopted. Beverly was complaining at them about how complicated things are since they keep adopting people." Pierre shrugged as they approached the front porch and he stopped on the front steps. "I'll take the flowers inside. Papa is coming, he wants to talk to you."

Will handed him the flowers he'd carried and watched the boy head in the front door, trying to remember if anyone had mentioned the kids having telepathy before. The voice of Jean-Luc preceded his appearance from the trees at the corner of the house.

"Will," Jean-Luc called out, striding along, and his steps faltered -- he'd seen Natalia. Fidele clearly hadn't mentioned her. He grinned, ran the last few steps and grabbed her in his arms, kissing her on both cheeks. "Look at you," he exclaimed happily. "Congratulations! Captain Greenman, I presume?"

"Hi... So what do I call you now?" she exclaimed, with some hint of the cheeky way she'd always had with him. "I heard you quit. No rank."

"Mr. Picard, of course. Or Mr. Troi would do I suppose." He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and held his arm up to show the tattoo at the bend of his elbow. It was a bit jarring to see him in dirty work slacks and a shirt open at the collar, after years of working with the uniformed officer he'd been. "Come on in, we'll have some tea and catch up."

"I'm going in search of Bell and the boys, if you don't mind," Will said, not wanting to intrude on the reunion.

He heard Marcus laughing in the distance as he rounded the corner of the house and followed the sound through the trees, a scattering of oaks and pines. He saw Bell at last and pushed through some waist-high bushes to get to her. She smiled, turning to look at him, and pointed upward. Will followed the instruction and saw a wood platform in the branches. Marcus was peering down at them, grinning.

"Hi, Marcus," Will said.

"C'mon up here Dad, it's neat!"

"Not sure there's enough room, kiddo. You have fun though." Will glanced at Bell. "Deanna is on her way back and Bettencourt cut me loose early. I have to talk to you about something."

"Okay," Bell said, a little wary but accepting. "John, Marcus, when you're done I want you to come right back to the house. Okay?"

"Okay Mom," John's voice drifted down. "Watch this Marky!"

They left them there laughing and walked up the hill, their shoes making a lot of noise in the leaves. "I had a visitor this morning. My dad showed up in the back yard."

Bell stopped walking and stared at him, eyebrows rising, mouth open. "Why? How?" she said after recovering.

"He beamed in, he beamed out. He told me he loved me and to tell my friends that it's over, Section 31 is gone. That's about it. He looked older than he is, terrible actually. Didn't say a damn thing about where he was going or what happened to him the past fifteen years."

"So they were right? He's one of them?" Bell shook her head and narrowed her eyes in concern. She'd never quite been able to believe that Kyle Riker could be a member of a shady, mythical cabal lurking around every corner.

Will shrugged. "It makes sense, though."

"Obviously no one has told me everything, if that's true." Bell hated being left out of things, but classified was classified. "Will he be back?"

"I don't think so. But just to be safe, if you see anything suspicious don't even wait to tell me, call security."

They reached the house and went in the back door. Loud voices echoed and they followed the sound to the front of the house. Jean-Luc was standing in the foyer with Deanna in his arms, kissing her passionately, and for a moment Will was frozen in his tracks -- it wasn't something he'd seen before. Pecks on the cheek, sure, or a hug here and there. An arm across the shoulders. But this public display was not usual, for Jean-Luc. 

They parted at their leisure, and Deanna smiled up into the face of her husband, clearly adoring him as much as ever. "Everything all right here?"

"Nat's here, and the Rikers, and Annika is wrapping up at the other house to come here."

"John and Marcus are in the treehouse," Will put in. He didn't expect the pause, the smiles, the look at each other -- something about the treehouse brought up some pleasant memories for the Picards, clearly.

A door slammed somewhere, and Yves came down the stairs, launching at his mother. She stepped away from Jean-Luc to catch him in her arms and he kissed her cheek. Jean-Pierre came out of the living room to get his hug as well. "Come see Nat," he exclaimed, tugging at her sleeve. 

The living room hadn't changed, though Will knew Deanna intended to re-cover some of the furniture. Captain Greenman sat in one of the green upholstered chairs, sipping tea. Yves must have already greeted her, he gave her a fleeting smile and turned to his parents. "Rebecca has some of her project left to do, may I be excused to help her?"

"Of course. Let her know dinner will be in an hour," Deanna said. "We'll start the food just before."

Yves left the room. Everyone else sat down -- Bell went to greet Natalia and joined Will on the sofa, taking his hand as she did so. The progress with John had eased the tension in them, and Will had finally been able to relax and feel like he'd gotten everything he wanted, the opportunity to be a family without the stress and interruption of Starfleet business. It was becoming clearer to him all the time how Jean-Luc had decided to leave Starfleet altogether.

Deanna sat in the chair nearest Natalia and leaned a little toward her. "I hadn't heard from you in a while, how is everything?"

Natalia had seemed happy, now her face changed and she seemed to be trying to maintain the happy. "It's going great -- except Scott," she said, starting to lose it a little. 

"Oh," Deanna said with a sigh. "I suppose he didn't like your promotion."

Natalia shrugged. "I guess not," she exclaimed, trying to smile through the tears starting. "He left me."

Jean-Luc left the room, and returned with a handkerchief to pass to her. "I should change," he said, gesturing at the dirt on the front of his brown trousers. "I'll be back momentarily."

After he'd gone Natalia stopped mopping at her eyes and shrugged again. "I don't want to talk about this. Where are the girls?"

"Betazed, for a festival," Deanna said. "You remember what those can be like. They're dancing with their grandmother in one of the events. She wanted me to be there but obviously I had to be on duty."

"Is it as bad as it appears to be, with the Breen?" Natalia was re-orienting herself on work -- the old dance away from the personal to the professional, to avoid unpleasant emotional situations. Will almost smiled thinking about that old habit. 

They talked around the current affairs of Starfleet, avoiding classified material. Pierre brought in glasses of water from the kitchen. While they were talking Fidele barked once, in the yard out front. Jean-Luc returned from upstairs and went to the front door instead of coming back into the living room, and they heard Janeway's voice happily greeting him and the excited voices of her daughters.

"We're going to need a bigger room," Deanna commented. 

"Where are we eating tonight if we're having so many people?" Natalia asked.

"The formal dining room should be adequate," Deanna said. "A lot has changed, Nat. We have been networking with Starfleet Family Services to get some additional help for some of the people who are finding themselves caring for orphaned children of family. We have two people living at the house in San Francisco, taking care of children they didn't plan to care for, at the moment."

"Two?" Will exclaimed. "I thought it was just the cadet and the baby."

"We had another similar case referred to us, and there is room for them now that we live here," Deanna said. "One of the first things Jean-Luc did was to establish parameters for referrals." She rose as the new guests entered the room to greet her -- Janeway was all smiles and the girls asked about Cordelia.

And then they heard Jean-Luc greeting Soriah Bettencourt, with her husband Teo. Yves returned to greet them, and show Teo where the piano was. 

"This is going to be some party," Bell commented. 

"It always is with the Picards these days," Will said while the chatter and greetings and excitement went on in front of them. "You know, when I came aboard the 1701-D, I never would have imagined this."

"You never would have imagined him having a family and friends?" Bell gestured at Jean-Luc, standing in the door, talking to Soriah Bettencourt about his daughters being on Betazed. 

Will chuckled. "Oh, trust me, if you had known him at that time you would say the same. And I'm not saying it's a bad thing, either."

The next hour saw the arrival of Annika, and then they were all put to work replicating their meals and seeing to their children, organizing everyone for dinner. John asked if he could sit with the adults as did Yves, and ended up seated at Will's left, with Bell on the other side of him. He had replicated something he'd had at the Picards, a Betazoid meal, and Will refrained from commenting. 

"Dad, Yves said they were going riding tomorrow. D'you think I could spend the night and go with them?"

Bell's head came up and she met Will's eyes over their son's head, alarmed. But Will thought about the accident a few months earlier and all John's adamant denials about ever wanting to get on a horse again, and saw it as progress. "I don't see why that would be a problem, if your homework is done."

"If your dad goes with you," Bell put in.

John didn't hear the tension behind that; he grinned at Will, clearly taking it another way. "Can you?"

"The boss lady over there determines that," Will said, nodding in Bettencourt's direction. Soriah heard, of course, and glanced their way. 

"I do not have an issue with that, provided you have your communicator with you," she replied. 

"I always have it, of course." The sound of the piano drifted in from down the hall, through the open door. Will thought it must be Chopin. "We're lucky to have your husband here, he's an excellent musician. I hope he comes to have dinner?"

"He will be in momentarily, when he is finished tuning the piano."

"We appreciate that he volunteered his time," Deanna said, returning with her meal to sit at their end of the long table. "We could have arranged a tuner to come."

"He takes pride in his work, and felt that if he is to teach your son to use the instrument, he should become familiar with it. Teo is sentimental about pianos, he appears to imbue them with human qualities at times. An illogical approach but I cannot argue with the result," Soriah said. Will thought that she sounded fond of the man. Expressing affection was not what he expected from a Vulcan.

Annika arrived next with her plate and sat down next to Deanna. "There is a leak in the roof at the San Francisco house," she said, clearly talking to Deanna. "I will find someone to repair it tomorrow."

"Tom will be back tomorrow morning. Ask him. He would want to have a hand in vetting the contractor -- he's still being hypervigilant about security," Deanna replied. 

"Tom's really a good guy," John said. He'd rolled his eyes at Glendenning's jokes many times, even jeered a little. Will gave him a dubious look. John shrugged. "When you get used to him," he added.

"That's literally everyone," Yves said as he went to sit between Soriah and Annika. 

"Yeah, yeah," John said flatly, grinning. 

Annika watched Yves settle and exchanged a smile with him when he turned to look at her. "Where is Rebecca going to sit?"

"Anywhere she wants, we don't have to sit next to each other all the time," he said. 

"Geeze, you don't know anything about women," John said. Will suppressed a smile and noticed Bell doing the same.

"Never said I did." Yves smiled down the table, where Rebecca was taking a seat between Pierre and the empty chair next to Soriah where Teo would likely sit. Janeway and her two girls were seated between Natalia and Marcus, who was next to Bell, and Jean-Luc was at the head of the table.

Annika picked up her fork and studied John for a few seconds. "What do you know about women, John?"

Heads turned. Will watched his son, waiting for his reaction. John stared at her with an openly-dismayed expression that suggested he had been caught off guard. That was a big change from being always on guard. 

"Nothing," John replied at last, grinning again. 

"The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing," Yves said.

"That's Socrates," Jean-Pierre announced. 

"Also Jean-Luc Picard," Deanna added. 

"I never said that," Jean-Luc said. He gave the corkscrew a final twist, the cork popped out, and he started to pour wine into wine glasses. 

"You said something about wisdom at some point. That wasn't it?" Deanna didn't sound like she was setting him up for the punchline.

"I can say many things about wisdom, but I cannot claim to have it," he said, handing a glass of pinot noir across the table to Kathryn. "I may have quoted Lao Tzu at some point. 'To know that you do not know is the best. To think you know when you do not is a disease. Recognizing this disease as a disease is to be free of it.'"

"I like Copernicus," Kathryn said, sipping her wine. "'“To know that we know what we know, and to know that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge.'"

"What I know that I know is that I need food," Pierre announced churlishly, watching his father hand another wine glass over to Annika. He stabbed his fork into his pasta and stuffed too much into his mouth.

"Can I quote you on that?" Rebecca asked, proving she had spent more than enough time with the Picards.

Soriah seemed to be smiling. When she noticed Will watching her, she stopped. "My son would enjoy this family."

"Where is your son?" Deanna asked.

"He is on Vulcan, with his aunt. I have been informed that he will return home shortly, however."

"I hope we meet him when he returns," Jean-Luc said.

"We might need a bigger dining room by then," Will said. "Tom and Beverly will be back. Where is Data? Geordi and his family?"

"Very good point, however, the renovation on the back of the house may yet be done by the time we have all of them available for inclusion in Sunday dinner," Jean-Luc said, bringing a glass of wine to Deanna and bending to kiss her before returning to his seat.

"Or we could stop adding people to the family already," Yves said. "I've lost count."

It led to everyone looking around, at Deanna and at Jean-Luc, and both of them seemed to be thinking about that. Jean-Luc shrugged. Deanna shook her head. "Not going to happen."

"You'll all simply have to adapt," Jean-Luc said. 

"At least this collective has better food," Annika said, as she picked up a spoonful of soup. 

Will was the first to laugh at it, as the others who realized it for what it was stared at her in shock. Annika smiled and continued to eat without comment.

"What are you laughing at?" John asked. 

"We'll tell you after dinner. It's a long story," Will said.

"Not at all," Annika said. "I can explain quite succinctly, if you wish. You will be assimilated into understanding the full context of the joke."

John turned to his father with confusion in his eyes.

"I promise, you won't be Borged," Will said.

Kathryn almost choked when she burst into laughter. Jean-Luc tried, but only managed to look offended for a few seconds before he broke down. Deanna set aside her wine glass, not laughing outright but at least somewhat amused.

"I do believe the joke has run its course," she said as the laughing dwindled to chuckling.

"Yes, you may as well give in. Resistance is futile," Jean-Luc said with a wave of the fork.

Will dropped his, and stared -- now Deanna was glaring her disapproval down the length of the table, and Jean-Luc was staring back with that saucy little smirk that dared her to respond. Yves sighed, went back to eating, and Pierre did the same. Annika was trying not to laugh instead of eating.

"Well," Kathryn said into the silence. "I have to say that it's never been boring when we've come to visit."

"I wouldn't say that," Deanna said. "If you get him on the right subject, Jean-Luc has been known to drone on and on."

It almost led to wine inhalation. Will put down his glass and turned to see Jean-Luc's reaction. He had his elbow on the table and his forehead in his hand, his head shaking slowly. After a moment he put up his hands in surrender.

"You have nothing irrelevant to add?" Yves put in, looking smug.

The piano music stopped and Teo came in a moment later, making his way around the table. "I hope I haven't missed anything."

"Not at all. Replicator is in the kitchen. There is a full menu of Spanish, French, Betazoid and Vulcan dishes." Deanna nodded, and Jean-Luc rose to fetch another bottle of wine to open.

Will started to eat again, exchanging an amused look with Bell. John was still confused, but seemed to be letting it go instead of getting angry, as he would have before. It was definitely looking as though they had finally settled in.


End file.
